


Soldier, Sniper, Spy

by subtlesinner



Series: Soldier, Sniper, Spy [1]
Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, CLINTUCKY, Clintasha - Freeform, Clucky - Freeform, Depression, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Multi, OT3, PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Some hurt/comfort, TW: drug use, buckynat - Freeform, clintbuckynat, long fic, m/m/f, threesome fic, tw: Mentions of Suicide, tw: PTSD, tw: depression, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-13 00:05:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3360341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtlesinner/pseuds/subtlesinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During childhood, Clint and Bucky are friends. After 10 years, Clint believes Bucky to be dead until he meets a familiar looking stranger at 4 in the morning in the middle of nowhere. What happens when they are reunited unexpectedly? And how does Natasha react to it all?</p><p>AU OT3 Fanfic featuring clint/bucky/nat</p><p> </p><p>***EDIT***<br/>There is now a part two!<br/>http://archiveofourown.org/works/4516545/chapters/10273248</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "But If You Close Your Eyes, Does It Almost Feel Like Nothing's Changed at All?"

         "No-no come on... Come on- don't do this to me now!" Clint groaned, tapping his forehead against the steering wheel as his rusty old classic car slowed to a halt on the side of the road. The battery appeared to be working; headlights showing bright in the vast dark countryside, but the engine floundered helplessly as Clint continued, fruitlessly, to attempt to re-start the car. The sound of dry, but musical laughter cut through Clint's groaning as Natasha chided him from the passenger seat, her feet propped up on the dashboard comfortably.

"Didn't I volunteer to drive for a reason?" Natasha quirked one perfectly manicured brow as she said it. Clint was unusually silent from the drivers seat, tonguing his cheek sulkily before he finally managed to whine,

"I never get to drive! Besides, I grew up around places like these, and I thought we could stay off the radar!" He sounded defensive, pouting with his arms crossed. Natasha reached a hand over, patting her partner's knee affectionately as she chuckled musically at him.

"Relax, Ptista," Natasha crooned soothingly, slipping a burner smartphone from her handbag and typing quickly with one hand, squeezing Clint's thigh lightly with the other. "There is a repair shop a couple of miles from here with a towing service. Oh but they don't open for a couple of hours... It looks like there's a twenty-four hour diner nearby. Think we can stall the vacation for a night?" Natasha's question sounded hopeful, but Clint looked sour despite her efforts.

"I appreciate the thought, 'Tasha, but it's our vacation! Nights like this are so few and far between..." Natasha could hear the pout in his voice more than she could see his features in the dim light of the console. "I was just really looking forward to-" He stopped midsentence as Natasha's hand finally finished its slow, gentle trail up his leg, landing squarely between them. Clint seemed to be having a hard time forming coherent thoughts as Natasha deviously decided to pull away, teasing him playfully in the dark cab of the stranded vehicle. "Uhhhh?" Clint groaned, this time with a new, deep bass in his voice.

"Well, the way I see it, we can do one of two things." Natasha leaned over the gearshift carefully, kissing a searing pattern behind his right ear and trailing down his neck in all the places she knew he liked best; her tongue traced a sensitive spot around his adam's apple and his chest rumbled in delight. Clint could feel things starting to develop in the drivers seat as Natasha continued her ministrations, his heart racing. "We can either play around a little bit here, and then go get some food and wait for the tow service," she nipped the cartilege of his ear carefully, her hand slipping down to settle on the junction of his now obviously painfully tight jeans and he couldn't help the needy noise that escaped his throat, "Or, we can go to the diner first, have some dinner or some coffee and try to find the nearest motel around here." She eyed him hungrily as she added, "Then we could have some real fun." Clint's cock twitched involuntarily as Natasha's finger gently traced its outline through his rough-worn jeans. It drove him crazy, but Clint was never one to object to a little teasing, and Natasha knew every button she could push with him without sending him over the edge.

"Why can't we do both?" Now Clint was the one who sounded hopeful, but he already knew her answer before she said it. Natasha practically purred at his response, and once again withdrew all contact.

"Now where's the fun in that?" She smiled sweetly at him as Clint's head lolled backward dejectedly. He knew how much he wanted to jump her right then and there in his car, but he knew how much more satisfying it would be to fuck her hard against a wall or a bed until she screamed his name. He swallowed dryly at the thought.

Sighing grumpily, Clint wrenched the drivers side door open and climbed out with a huff as Natasha suppressed a small laugh with her hand. As she, too, climbed out, she could see Clint adjusting himself in an attempt to be discrete. She licked her lips as he lifted his shirt just high enough to reveal a light trail of hair dusted beneath his chiseled abdomen; she loved seeing the tip of his cock landing just above the waist of his low-slung jeans as he finished adjusting himself and pulled his shirt back down. He cleared his throat when he caught her staring, winking at her when she met his gaze.

The night air was warm, for which Clint was thankful. They had broken down in the middle of a field, somewhere near the American midwest. Far in the distance, Clint could see lights; possibly the small town Natasha had seen on her phone. "It looks like the diner's a couple miles down the road in that direction." Natasha pointed toward the lights, confirming the sniper's prediction.

"Shall we?" Clint motioned, slinging an arm over her shoulder as they walked in relative silence against the loud country crickets that echoed in the breeze.

***

James sat in the booth dejectedly, his head pounding painfully in his hands.

"Fucking drunk in the middle of nowhere. You've really done it now, Buddy. You don't deserve to be alive." He scolded himself coldly, only half-paying attention to the rest of the diner around him. He chanced a quick look at the dented phone on the table in front of him flashing the time, 2:25 AM, as well as notifications for 5 unread messages he was sure he didn't want to see through the spider web crack in the screen.

"Can I get you anything else, 'Hon?" The young waitress cradled his dirty plate in one hand, a pot of coffee held readily in the other. She didn't leave when he shook his head slowly. "Is there anyone I can call? You look pretty rough." Again, James shook his head carefully, dizziness overtaking him quickly. "I know he's at work, but your buddy's probably pretty worried-"

"No, really. I'm fine, thanks." He ground the words out, plastering a fake smile on his face, but the effort made him see stars. The waitress shrugged her shoulders, casually tossing a packet of aspirin onto the table in front of him.

"You probably shouldn't keep drinking if you take those." The waitress added, then walked away. Embarassment flushed in James's cheeks as he swept the packet of painkillers into his pocket and stood to leave, awkwardly fumbling his jacket over each arm. He wobbled a little as he tried to quickly exit the diner, attempting to stiff the waitress on the bill and thinking he got away with it until he was at the door and she yelled, "Hey! James!"

He tried to run, but accidentally plowed headfirst into an older man and his girlfriend that were opening the door from the other side.

"Hey! Don't let that guy get away!" The man he had run into grabbed James by the shoulders, his hands far stronger than the average bystander.. James's head spun and he felt horribly sick as he was steered back into the diner to face the people he'd just tried to steal from.

***

         "Hey, brother, everything all right?" Clint steered the obviously intoxicated younger man into a nearby chair, taking the seat next to him as Natasha sat across from them, waving over the waitress.

"Um, just coffee for me," Natasha nodded to the waitress as she addressed them, glaring angrily at the younger man sitting next to Clint. He couldn't help but notice something extremely familiar about the young man, something he couldn't quite place. He shrugged it off quickly, trying to sound casual as he clapped a hand on the young man's back. When James had finally worked up the courage to look up at his captors, a second of recognition dawned on him as he stared at the sandy-haired man sitting next to him. It wasn't possible... James hadn't seen him in years.

"Clint-?" He mumbled the name, but fell silent as he was unexpectedly overcome with a wave of nausea, the room continuing to spin wildly.

Suddenly, James shot up in his seat, his face turning a sickly shade of green. "M'gonna be sick-" James stumbled out of his chair, Clint standing to watch him with a concerned look on his face.

"I'm just gonna follow him to the-" Clint was interrupted by a particularly loud dry heave from James, who then stumbled toward the facilities around the corner from the kitchen, "the bathroom." Natasha sat in stunned silence as Clint followed the stranger like a mother hen, herding him into the restroom to relieve himself. She couldn't believe what she'd thought she'd heard; that boy, James, had called Clint by name when they hadn't been introduced... She tried to shake the feeling, reminding herself how far they were from anywhere they could be recognized, when she finally turned back to the waitress with an apologetic laugh.

"I think you'd better make that three coffees," Natasha smiled charmingly at the waitress, pulling her wallet out of her handbag and setting it on the table carefully. "And, um, how much did he owe?" She added, motioning toward the back of the diner where Clint and James had disappeared to.

"Ah, don't worry about it too much, miss." The waitress dismissed her with a quick flick of her wrist. "James, is a regular here. He and his buddy, Steve, used to come around a lot, but I haven't seen much of them recently. I'll cover his ass today, but he better not cause me any more trouble." Something softened in the woman's eyes when she added, "If you're gonna do anything for him, just make sure he finds a safe place to sleep tonight."

"Actually, that reminds me," Natasha segued hopefully, "Are there any motels close by? Our car broke down a couple miles out and we need a place to stay until the mechanic opens up in the morning." The waitress didn't seem too surprised, it apparently happened quite frequently out near the diner. She drew a small map for Natasha on a napkin, detailing the location of both the motel and the mechanic in relation to where they were currently. At the bottom, the waitress also scribbled out a series of digits and underlined them carefully.

"This is James's roommate's phone number. His name is Steve. You can call him sooner if you'd like, but last I knew, he worked until six most mornings. Otherwise I'm sure he would be here right now, watching James like a hawk." Natasha accepted the napkin, folding it carefully into her pocket and nodding as the waitress added, "I'm sorry about James. He's not usually like this. Something bad must have happened tonight to set him off. He's a great guy, but-" She trailed off for a moment before continuing, "James has been through some serious trouble in his life, but he really isn't a bad person." Nerves rose slightly in Natasha's chest when she saw the way the woman talked about him. She knew she could see every exit from where she sat, but it didn't make her want Clint to return any less quickly.

***

         Clint leaned against the door of the bathroom stall, watching with sympathy as James emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl unceremoniously. As he coughed and spluttered, Clint shook his head. He couldn't shake the feeling that they'd met before, but for the life of him, he couldn't place the guy. Growing up, Clint had performed in a circus; he had traveled the United States, meeting people in every corner of the country, so it would be understandable that faces would start to blend together after awhile, but still the feeling dug at the back of his mind. After a particularly brutal wave, Clint thought he might have been through the worst of it- James was on his knees, hunched over the toilet miserably with tears involuntarily streaming down his red cheeks, and leaning on one elbow.

Clint bent down to rub the man's back, tucking some of his long, unkempt hair behind his ear to avoid it getting in the way.

"James..." He began, unsure of how to ask the question that had been nagging at him. The hand that wasn't resting on James's back slid carefully into his pocket, a trained hand resting on a lethally sharp tactical knife."I need to ask you how you knew my name, when I never introduced myself." James didn't move, but cleared his throat and spat thickly into the toilet bowl beside him before he finally spoke.

"Clint Barton." His hand tightened around the blade, but still the younger man did not move. Phlegm and bile rumbled in James's throat as he continued, "When you were seventeen, you and your twenty year old brother, Barney, held up a liquor store and stole a couple hundred dollars and a few cases of beer. But, you got caught, and sent to juvy."

"Yeah, and Barney went to jail for the first time." Clint bitterly mumbled. "What's your point?"

"When you were in juvy, you got to be pretty good friends with another kid there, right? Some little punk who was a couple of years younger than you." Clint blinked for a moment; it had been years since he'd last voluntarily thought about that part of his life; too many painful memories that threatened to resurface.

"Bucky." The name sounded childish in James's ears, but he was thankful to hear Clint's gruff voice say it. "I haven't thought about him in years." There was sadness in his voice, a resigned depression that James didn't think possible with Clint's previously sunny disposition.

"Did anyone ever tell you what happened to him? While he was deployed, and you were locked up in county for the first time?" Clint started to grow defensive.

"You're digging up some pretty deeply buried shit." Clint warned. "What are you playing at, kid?"

"Seriously. I'm curious to know exactly what you were told." By now James had managed to straighten up a little, pushing his long hair back over the top of his head so it fell into a natural part. His blue eyes were watery, purple bags forming beneath them and standing darkly against his pale, clammy skin. Clint sighed, his knuckles going white from the knife gripped in his pocket. In one fluid motion Clint slipped the knife out of his pocket and lined the blade lightly against James's throat.

"You really want to hear me say it that bad?" Clint snarled, old wounds resurfacing as he thought of his long-deceased friend and confidante. James made a choking sound as he gasped for breath, trying not to move at the same time. His hands flew, palms out into the air in surrender.

"Woah, woah, Clint-" James swallowed carefully. "It's me. That's what I'm trying to tell you. I'm Lieutenant James Buchannon Barnes... or, was." He ended sheepishly. "Bucky was my nickname from when I was a kid."

Clint shook his head in complete disbelief. When he turned nineteen and was discharged from the foster care system, he'd received a "to whom it may concern" letter, telling him that his friend-turned-penpal-turned-soldier had been MIA for a week and was assumed to be dead. Clint had voiced similar concerns in a letter dated a year before, a response to the letter Bucky had written him to tell him about he and his buddy's idea to enlist.

"They said you went MIA. You were assumed to be dead." Tears were welling in Clint's eyes as he dropped the knife to the floor, pulling the man's face into the light to better inspect it. Years of hard living had taken its' toll, but upon closer inspection, Clint couldn't deny the uncanny resemblance.

"Do you believe me now, Francis?" There was a familiar sharp jab in the way Bucky said his middle name that completely convinced Clint. He pulled the younger man into a tight embrace, squeezing him a bit too hard, apparently as Bucky gagged and shoved Clint out of the way in time to vomit into the toilet once more.

As the initial shock subsided, Clint snapped back into care-giver mode, clucking his tongue and stepping quickly outside the restroom to snag a cup from the kitchen. He filled it with water from the sink, and when James had finished wretching, handed the glass to him. The younger man accepted it gratefully as he settled heavily to lean against the wall of the stall, appearing slightly more sober after the intense purge. James's mouth burned with acidic bile as he swished the water gratefully, spitting the remaining liquid into the toilet bowl next to him. He grimaced, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and that's when Clint noticed it- a silver sheen on one hand, like a metal glove. The younger man must've felt him staring, because he quickly dropped his hand to the ground again; his shirtsleeve fell, concealing the metal sheen once more.

"Feel any better?" Clint asked genuinely, without thinking, he put a kind hand on James's shoulder. Clint couldn't help but notice a stiffness that didn't quite feel right, connecting it with the hand he'd seen moments ago. He felt bad when James quickly pulled away from his touch, evidently something he wasn't keen on explaining just yet.

"I guess so." James mumbled quietly, adding, "Thanks, by the way." as he handed the empty glass back to Clint. Clint thought his heart might stop when James quietly told him, "You know, you look the same as you always did. You look good, Clint" just loud enough that he couldn't take it back. James's crystalline eyes twinkled with involuntary tears, as he talked to someone he never thought he would see again. Even so, Clint couldn't help but notice the younger man was just as attractive as he had always been. Clint was immediately reminded of how much of their relationship had been based on mutual flirtation and tension. He felt a little guilty in offering it without consulting Natasha, but Clint felt obligated to offer it; he wanted to spend as much time with the living ghost as possible.

"My, uh," he struggled with a word to describe he and Natasha's relationship for a moment. "My partner and I are going to get a room for the night... Do you have a place to stay?" The look on James face implied he wasn't exactly sure of the answer. He looked conflicted at Clint's choice of words. "You're welcome to crash on the floor or something... Just- just think on it. You don't have to answer me now." Clint shrugged in feigned nonchalance as he suggested it, slinging James's arm over his shoulder as he'd done to Natasha before and helped him back into the diner proper. James seemed on edge still, like a cat who'd been doused with water, but he accepted the help quietly, settling back at the table alongside Clint and Natasha.

"Everything okay?" Natasha asked them cheerily, but Clint could tell something wasn't right about the way she was acting. She was putting on an act; assuming the Widow's, and not the real Natasha's traits.

"Yeah." Clint smiled genuinely. A big dopey grin that stretched from one cheek to the other. "Natasha, I want to formally introduce you to James "Bucky" Barnes."

Natasha's sugary sweet facade dropped for a millisecond as she started to become more like herself.

"Wait... Bucky?" Natasha knew all of Clint's secrets; every detail of his past, just as he knew all of hers. "Like, the 'Bucky'-Bucky?" James suppressed a gag as the smell of the coffee wrapped around the inside of his nostrils when he brought the cup to his lips. He coughed, bile rising in his throat as he almost dropped the mug back onto the table again.

"Easy there, champ." Clint patted James's back sympathetically, but kept his eyes locked on Natasha and giving a small nod. She didn't need anything more than that to know she could trust Clint. If Clint believed this man was who he claimed to be, she would have to believe him. "I think you might need a little help before you can stomach anything just yet." Clint winked when he said that, patting his breast pocket knowingly as Natasha chuckled at him. "I think it's time we got the check."

*****

James couldn't wipe the smirk off his face as they walked around the back of the diner, taking shelter behind a dumpster as Clint pulled a pack of filtered marlboro cigarettes from one of his pants pockets, and lit one enthusiastically. He savored the familiar buzz of the tobacco as it burned in his lungs, blowing a stream of smoke into the air above them. The smell made James's head spin, but his heart was racing in a way it hadn't felt in years. The smell was something he'd always associated with Clint and only Clint, and he couldn't contain the pure joy he felt in that moment. Clint handed Natasha his lit cigarette, knowing she would want a taste, but wouldn't finish the whole thing if he gave it to her. She drew a carefully measured breath, releasing the smoke into the air and licking her lips. She smiled a little when she caught James watching her through half lidded eyes as she handed the cigarette back to Clint who immediately let it dangle between his lips once more.

"Exactly the same, right down the brand of cigarettes." James laughed huskily, his throat still raw. "God damn, Barton, you really haven't changed at all in twelve years." Clint smirked, one side of his mouth curled devilishly as he pulled a crumpled plastic bag out of his pack of cigarettes, smelled it with a flourish, and handed it to James.

"No, you know, I really haven't." James laughed at Clint, fondly remembering an afternoon or two they had whittled away smoking pot and listening to music, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder comfortably on James's bed in his parent's old house. He almost couldn't believe he was the same person anymore; it seemed like a lifetime ago. James's internal musings were interrupted when Clint flicked his cigarette butt and ground it out with his heel as he cleared his throat and chimed,

"We should head to the motel, get our buzz on and raid the vending machine before we pass out for the rest of the night."

*********

Clint sighed contentedly and leaned backward, one of his muscular arms wresting comfortably behind his head as he lay back on the roof of the motel, his legs dangling over the edge slightly as he exhaled a thick plume of smoke into the sky. His other arm was extended toward Natasha, passing the carefully-rolled spliff into her outstretched hand. She took a short draw, holding the smoke carefully in her lungs before letting it slip out between her lips just as easily. They weren't frequent smokers, but when they wanted to relax on vacation, they knew it was an easy way to spend the time. James gratefully accepted it from Natasha, keen to curb the empty roiling in his stomach and coughing raspily after holding the hot smoke too long. For the first time in years, James finally started to feel like the person he used to be. James hated the person he was now, just a shell of his former self, often pitied by people he had never even met before. Swinging his legs back up onto the building, Clint turned carefully to face James who sat just a few feet away from him.

"James, I know you probably don't want to talk about it, and it's fine if you don't. But there's a question I've been living with for the last eight years, and I know if I don't ask, it'll eat at me until I do." Clint's voice was solemn, almost reverent when he said it. James's jaw set heavily, but he didn't avoid Clint's gaze.

"It's not easy to talk about, I'll admit, Clint. But I'm an adult. I'm not made of glass." James said it with bravado, but he knew he could just as easily crumble and break at any moment. Clint looked grateful for the acknowledgment, nonetheless.

"You asked me back at the diner what it was they told me, when they told me you went MIA. They mentioned that you were last seen tracking a Russian sleeper cell, but that you never checked in after a reconaissance mission." James nodded slowly. "They guessed you were discovered, then taken as a prisoner. Assumed dead after you weren't found or ransomed after eight months."

"That is... accurate." His tone was cold, the tension coiling in his spine uncomfortably again.

"How did you get away alive?" James blinked heavily, this time actively avoiding Clint's sympathetic gaze as he asked questions that James wasn't completely sure he was ready to answer. He had to think for quite some time before he answered, carefully choosing his words precisely.

"You remember that good friend I wrote you about, Steve, the one who convinced me to join up with him?" Clint nodded. "Well, when we entered training, Steve and I got split up pretty quick. I was chosen as a specialist, while Steve was selected for a Super Soldier Program, the military's greatest experimental weapon during the war." James seemed just a little bitter as he talked about the other man, but Natasha didn't hesitate to guess that the Super Soldier and roommate were one in the same. "I was out on surveillance when my cover was blown. I was taken across the country, moved and drugged and beaten so many times, I only remember bits and pieces of it, really." James stated the facts evenly, trying his best to suppress the images that reoccurred in his nightmares each night. "They found me four years after I was declared MIA in a hidden cold-war era facility in Kiev. But, not before the Russians cut off my arm, tortured me for information, and when I wouldn't give it to them, they tried to turn me into a monster."

"Fuck!" Clint cursed, punching the roof below him in anger. "Jesus, Buck, I-" Clint's voice broke slightly, and Natasha placed a hand on each of the men's shoulders soothingly. "I'm so sorry, James. That's fucked."

"I don't remember a lot of it. Just bits flashes, here and there." James continued, trying to console Clint somehow. He wanted desperately to return to the light hearted mood he'd had moments before. "I've seen a lot of shrinks since then. Therapy, one day at a time and all that." James scooted closer to Clint, so they were shoulder-to-shoulder against the lip of the building roof. "I try not to think of it as much anymore."

Trying desperately to take the attention off himself, James reached hopelessly for a topic to break the silence.

"So, what's the story with you two?" james pointed a finger between Clint and Natasha. "How did the two of you end up in the middle of nowhere at the ass crack of dawn?" Clint sighed, exchanging eye contact with Natasha before he began his reply.

"We're partners, sort of a Special Ops team working for a para-military branch of the government that keeps in the shadows. Natasha and I have been partners for eight years. She knows everything about me, and I know everything about her." James accepted the answer, despite having a hard time imagining nineteen year old Clint ever settling down and working a government job. "That still doesn't really explain how you wound up at the diner at bumfuck o'clock. Are you supposed to be on assignment?" Clint laughed.

"We're on vacation for the week. Headed to a safehouse a couple states away for my birthday on Tuesday." Natasha interrupted him as she sat on Clint's other side, pressing her shoulder against his in a mirror image of James's.

"Your buddy here insisted on driving, and his shitty old car broke down on the side of Route 49."

"We decided to get a room for the night and then get it towed to the mechanic in the morning. Figured we'd push the, uh... celebrations... back for a night." Clint finished awkwardly.

"Ohhhhh," James laughed out loud at his sudden realization. "Sorry, uh... I didn't mean to cockblock you two or anything..." James rambled awkwardly. "So I guess the idea of a threesome's out of the picture, isn't it?" The words slipped out of his mouth jokingly before he realized they had, and immediately James's cheeks went scarlet. "Shit, did I just say that out loud?" James's hand flew up to cover his face in embarassment, but Clint shrugged inconsequentially.

"Hey, like I said, she knows all the skeletons in my closet." Natasha also shrugged.

"It isn't the first time we've had someone else involved."

"And I'm kind of sitting on a lot of things I never thought I'd get to do..." Clint suddenly looked hungry, and not in a munchies kind of way.

"So, wait, did we just-" James was taken aback. He couldn't lie, Natasha was undoubtedly a stunning woman, and the idea of being with Clint after all those years of longing had him instantly aroused. But there was an awkwardness there, too- he'd always been attracted to Clint, particularly now that he had a chance to really see how muscular the older man was, his shirt stretched tightly around his biceps; but he'd never actually had a threesome before, let alone sex with another man. He'd been with plenty of women- in fact, some might have accused him of being a playboy in his younger days, but somehow the idea of having Clint involved seemed more frightening, but also more appealing than it ever had been before. He couldn't hide his exhiliration when James finally broke the silence. "Uh, I think maybe we should go back to your room?" Clint's grin split from ear to ear as he let out a low wolf whistle and Natasha just smiled wickedly back at them.

"We thought you'd never ask."

********

Clint and Natasha were no strangers to experimentation in their relationship. They never really put a label on anything because of the nature of their work; true connections were hard to come by, and neither of them wanted to ruin what they had with unneccesary questions. James was exhilirated as they locked the motel room door behind them. Clint whistled a happy tune as Natasha massaged a nimble hand around the backs of each of their necks. After the chain had been secured in the door, Natasha pressed a palm against both men's chests. "Before we begin, I don't want there to be any ambiguity here. Are you both ok with this? You're free to say no now, no questions asked." Her voice was husky, when she asked it, but both men nodded back at her. "Verbal confirmation, boys, I want to hear you say it." The commanding tone in her voice went straight to James's cock in a way he hadn't known about before.

"Yes." James squeaked.

"Oh God, Yes please." Clint laughed.

"Alright then, now that that's out of the way-" Natasha pushed Clint into the threadbare armchair in the corner of the room, pulling James toward the bed with her. "Any questions or concerns?" James shook his head, his eyes growing wide as she began to pull off her top, exposing black lacy lingerie under the normal jeans and t-shirt.

"You seem prepared for this," James chided as she reached toward him greedily. A sudden look of fear shot across his face when he remembered suddenly that he needed to be naked in front of them. Clint was already starting to unzip his jeans, palming himself lightly through his pants until he noticed the discomfort on James's face.

"James? What's wrong?" Clint looked concerned and Natasha immediately stopped what she was doing.

"Ah... I uh... I just realized how long it's been since I actually had sex last." James stared at the ground in embarassment. "It's still a bit weird with the prosthetic and all."

"If you need a minute, we can ease into things and you can jump in when you're ready?" Clint offered, James looked back at him thankfully and nodded. They traded places, James settling into the chair as Natasha pushed Clint onto his back in the bed.

"I guess it's finally time to finish what we started, eh?" Natasha asked him as Clint ran his hands down her body when she climbed on top of him. He sat up slightly so she could peel his shirt off over his head, kissing and sucking down his neck and over his broad pectoral muscles. James grew painfully hard at the sight as he imagined how it would feel to receive the same treatment from the gorgeous woman. His hand slid carefully down his abdomen, skimming under his shirt to unzip his fly, snaking a hand into his boxer briefs and pumping himself slowly, just once. Natasha unbuttoned Clint's jeans and released the zipper swiftly, allowing his cock to bob free of its denim prison. James wasn't entirely surprised at Clint's lack of underwear, but was pleased to finally know the size of Clint's cock after years of imagining. Clint's penis was shorter but wider, while Bucky's was longer but slimmer. He couldn't wait to make Clint gasp his name.

Before Clint could do much to distract her, Natasha slipped his length into her warm slick mouth. Clint had to hold on as hard as he could not to cum just from the relief of the sensation. She pumped his length while wrapping her tongue around the head, lapping lightly at it as he gasped in pleasure. Casting a glance down toward his feet, Clint caught a glimpse of James furiously masturbating to the sight of Natasha swallowing him whole. Clint knew he wouldn't last long as he strained not to fuck up into her mouth in time with James's frantic strokes.

"God, 'Tash, this is gonna end embarassingly quick if we don't switch it up just yet-" Clint managed to force out before Natasha pulled off of him. She flipped the two of them over, changing position so that her lacey panties sat just inches from his mouth, and his cock hung perfectly in her face.

Clint pulled Natasha's panties to the side, swiping his tongue from bottom to top and worrying her clit lightly. A needy gasp escaped her lips as Clint slid his tongue deep inside her. James had to give himself a moment to keep from coming at the sound.

"Oh Clint, oh fuck." She pushed herself down against his tongue so she could ride it deeper, gasping again as she realized that James had crossed the room in two quick strides, and was now rolling her nipples between his fingers. "More!" She demanded as Clint added a crooked finger to her pussy in addition to his tongue. Natasha began sucking Clint's cock once more with enthusiasm, as James lapped at her breast and stroked Clint into Natasha's mouth with his flesh and bone hand. Clint stopped eating her pussy long enough to look down and moan at the sight before losing it completely.

"Fuck- oh fuck, I'm gonna cum- Oh God I can't-" He continued to babble as he shot thick streams of cum into Natasha's expectant mouth. She swallowed the initial bursts as James continued rhythmically stroking him, wiping her lip and licking her finger as Clint's cock finished twitching slowly. James pulled Natasha by the chin into a sloppy kiss, tasting the other man on her lips as Clint stepped away to clean himself up.

Natasha moved James over top of her gently as they kissed, tongues sliding in and out of each other's mouths carefully. Breaking the kiss for a moment, Natasha fingered the hem of James's shirt tentatively, asking permission without really voicing it. He bit his lip and nodded, standing and pulling the shirt over his head, rubbing at the smooth metallic arm nervously.

"God Bless Mother Russia." James shrugged sarcastically, flexing each finger individually as he showed Natasha how the hand moved fluidly, almost as smoothly as a regular limb would. She kissed the scar tissue that snaked around the metal, fusing prosthetic limb with skin. Stepping back, Natasha practically purred as she slid a finger down his abdomen and into the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs.

"I would like you to make me cum now, James." Natasha smiled wickedly at him and James thought he might pass out.

"How would you like me to do that?" James managed.

"However you think you can." She seemed to be challenging him, daring him to make the first move.

In a matter of seconds, James had her off of the bed and up against the wall, her leg hitched up over his shoulder as he crouched with his face between her thighs. Using his fingers, he spread her pussy open, running his tongue punishingly over her clit and sucking hard.

"Fuck, James!" Natasha raised her arms above her head, grasping for purchase against the tacky wallpaper as he curled his long tongue into her g-spot, using the angle of her hips to his advantage. Clint wandered back into the room in time to see James face buried in Natasha's pussy as she chanted"Yes", and "More" and "Deeper" until he hoisted her other knee over his other shoulder and she was now effectively straddling his tongue as she slid down the wall. Clint got close enough to lap at Natasha's nipples, un-clasping her bra and removing it at last as he continued to drag the tip of his tongue around her sensitive peak and James continued his cunnilungal onslaught.

"Yesyesyesyesplease!" She murmurred, grasping for Clint's short hair as her pussy began to contract and flutter around James's tongue. He eased her to the ground, her legs trembling with exhaustion. James finally stopped when Natasha pulled away from him, swinging her legs over his head to lie on her side for a moment, still twitching and sensitive.

"Wow." James huffed, his heart racing in his chest. "That was incredible." Natasha remained quiet, but lifted her hand to give him a thumbs up.

"Just wait." Clint laughed back at him, a hungry grin forming on his face. "Now it's your turn." Natasha turned her head to look at him with flushed cheeks, still breathing raggedly as she watched Clint help James off his knees behind her.

 

***

 

 


	2. "When the Walls Came Tumbling Down"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, here’s part 2 of what I guess I’m now calling the “Soldier, Sniper, Spy” series? Definitely nsfw, as it’s picking up exactly where part 1 left off, so skip it if you’re uncomfortable with the m/m/f, yo. More porn, then comes all the heavy, angsty plot stuff.

Clint pulled James off the floor, leading him to sit on the bed they had previously abandoned. He looked the younger man up and down reverently, taking in every inch of his sweat-sheened body. James licked his lips as he stared back at Clint, all muscle and scars that James never expected him to have collected in the years they'd been apart, but Clint was still Clint after all that time, and James's heart pounded as he was finally able to do the things he'd only thought about for years. Finally, Clint made the first move, and closed the space between them, pressing James backward, up the bed and against the cheap motel headboard. Taking James's face in both hands, Clint kissed him; first sweet, slow and chaste, but James knew he wasn't patient enough to let it go on that way for very long. He kissed Clint back fiercely, all teeth and tongue and fire, leaving Clint breathless. Clint's hands moved to the back of James's head, his long hair twining between Clint's fingers as he grasped desperately at the younger man. James wrapped both arms around Clint's shoulders, hissing at the burn in his scalp as Clint pulled his unkempt hair and bit at his lip, soothing the pain with a quick swipe of his tongue.

By now, James was sitting rigidly against the headboard, the cheap material leaving marks on his back from the way Clint had him pinned. The older man was straddling his lap as they made out like teenagers, insatiable and hungry. Natasha watched them with interest as she quickly recovered from James's handiwork. She could already see Clint's needy side coming out as the two men grabbed at each other desperately, Clint beginning to grind his already impossibly hard cock against the outline James's tantalizingly obvious bulge obscured only slightly by his thin boxer briefs.

"God damn, Barnes... You wearing those right now is a fucking crime." Clint panted, hooking three of his fingers under the offending waistband. James groaned at the contact, his cock twitching involuntarily as he struggled to move from their current position.

"I'd really love to take them off, Clint, but you seem to be on top of me-" James's train of thought was quickly interrupted as Clint snaked his fingers through the fly of the shorts, wrapping the digits around James and squeezing lightly. "Ahh." James moaned at the contact, rocking his hips the best he could into Clint's touch, but still, Clint would not let him move.

"Ah Ah." Clint tutted at James, withdrawing his hand from James's fly with a teasing look on his face, just as Natasha had done to him hours before. Natasha watched Clint's calculated movements with interest, her heart stuttering as James stared back at him angrily, a snarl forming on his lips. It both scared and excited Clint to see James primal and animalistic like that, and James knew it. The man had always courted danger like a long-lost love, and James was feeling particularly dangerous in that moment.

"Clint, I don't know about you, but I've been waiting for the greater part of a decade for this." Bucky growled. "You'd better damn well give me what I want, or I'm just going to fucking take it from you." The older man finally conceded, sliding off of Bucky's lap just long enough for him to strip away what was left of his clothes, before Clint carefully sank to his knees in front of James.

"Do you mind?" Clint asked, receiving a quiet nod in response as James put his cold metal palm against Clint's broad cheek. Graciously, Clint went about stroking James's length, slowly at first, but picked up speed with each passing moment. Clint watched and listened for each little movement and sound James made as he continued his experimentation before finally sliding his tongue across the slit of Bucky's head, savoring the salt of the precum that had already begun to pool there, threatening to spill over. The sensation made James's hips jerk involuntarily, squeezing Clint's shoulders hard enough to bruise as he did it. The force of James's hips snapping forward caught Clint offguard, causing him to accidentally scrape the head of James's cock against the stubble of his jaw. James pulled away slightly, but Clint stroked him carefully once more, guiding his cock into Clint's expectant, open mouth. As he began to relax his throat, swallowing Bucky slowly and humming slightly with the effort, James felt himself starting to slip dangerously close to cumming.

"Woah, woah, Clint, stop! I'm already too-" Almost immediately, Clint stopped, sliding himself off of the younger man's cock with a loud pop. James's eyes were still screwed shut as he leaned back onto the bed, breathing hard and trying to keep from coming right then and there. Natasha and Clint exchanged wicked glances from across the room, both thinking the same thing as James's breathing finally equalized again.

"Okay... I think- I think I'm ready again..." James panted heavily, cracking his eyes open to see not Clint, but instead Natasha, sitting over him now. Her perfect breasts hung in his face as she leaned down, tracing his pulse points with her tongue, and sucking on a particularly sensitive spot near his adam's apple. James groaned filthily, his cock throbbing as he rubbed the tip of it along Natasha's already wet pussy while she moved further down his neck and chest.

"Ah, fuck!" Natasha cursed as James entered her without warning in one quick movement. As much as he wanted to savor how it felt as her pussy wrapped around him, James knew he couldn't hold back any more, and began to set a punishing pace. She rode him hard, meeting his every stroke in counterpoint, and gasping as he sat up, bottoming out inside her quicker than she'd expected at that angle. The cold jolt of pleasure was enough to have Natasha begging him not to stop, but her cries fell on deaf ears as Clint moved behind them to nibble at the sensitive spot behind James's ear. The combined sensation had James seeing stars; he fucked Natasha as deep as he could manage, feeling her pussy clench and flutter around him milliseconds before he came with a filthy moan. His hips jerked like a piston, once, twice, three times, before he finally had to stop moving, the sensation overwhelming him completely.

"You're fucking beautiful." Clint rasped into James's ear, kissing him gently as Natasha slid off of him, curling into his side to cuddle for a moment in the afterglow. James felt sated and happy as endorphins rushed to his brain. Clint nudged the two of them over, joining James at his other side and snuggling in close. He caught a glimpse of the alarm clock moments before they all fell asleep in a sweaty, but sated pile; it was 7 AM, and sunlight was beginning to stream through the cracks in the motel curtains as the world began to silhouette around the edges. James fell asleep in a haze, sleeping without dreaming for the first time since his abduction.

********

When he jolted awake a few hours later, James became immediately aware of the fact that he was freezing, completely naked, and alone in the room. Milliseconds later, he rushed out of bed and into the bathroom, wretching horribly into the toilet as he felt a hangover begin to split his skull in two. After spending the next few minutes unsuccessfully dry heaving, James stepped out of the bathroom, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth. He slowly made his way over to the corner of the room, picking up his discarded jeans and reaching into his pocket. James fished out his nearly-destroyed smart phone slowly, memories of the night before coming rushing back to him. He cursed as he unlocked the phone, displaying 5 missed calls (Stevie) and 7 new text messages from the night before.

\--

::Stevie, 8.25PM:: Buck, did you take my bike when you left? i need to go to the store but my motorcycle is gone

::Stevie,10.17PM:: seriously, where are you? why haven't you made it back yet

::Stevie, 10.30PM:: MISSED CALL (1)

::Stevie,10.44PM:: took a cab to work. please text me, I'm worried

::Stevie, 10.57PM:: MISSED CALL (2)

::Stevie, 12.10AM:: MISSED CALL (3)

::Stevie,12.13AM:: cops came to work. said they found my bike tangled up in a tree out in the woods all the way in eaton cnty

::Stevie, 12.14AM:: they found an empty fifth smashed nearby. Buck, please text me back so I know you're ok

::Stevie, 2.43AM:: MISSED CALL (4)

::Stevie, 2.54AM:: where are you? come on, man. don't do this

::Stevie, 4.37AM:: MISSED CALL (5)

::Stevie, 5.59AM:: i'm not mad, Buck, just worried. please call me back

\--

James tossed his phone onto the dresser with a clatter, disgusted with himself over the way he had acted the day before, following the events like a horrifying play in his head.

He and Steve had gotten into a screaming match over whether or not James was ready to back down from the two therapy sessions a week he was currently attending to just one session every ten days instead. It was a big change, but when James brought up the topic, he was hopeful; he'd made a lot of progress within the last two years, even though he knew he wasn't completely himself still. Nonetheless, Steve was dead set against it, and no matter how James tried to justify his position, Steve still would not concede.

"Stevie, come on!" James pleaded. James's family had passed seven years ago, his father to a car accident when he was nineteen, and his mother unexpectedly to stomach cancer later the same year. Both had passed while he was deployed, and he never got to say his goodbyes. Steve had been orphaned from childhood, practically living with Bucky since they were kids, and the death of James's family affected him just as deeply. It was part of why Steve's approval was so important to James: after all those years, he was the only person James deeply cared about who had been with him through all of the ups and downs. He owed Steve his life, and then some.

"Buck, I already said no!" Steve shouted back at him from across the kitchen, slamming down the plate he'd been washing in the sink with a loud clatter.

"If I just pushed it back to every ten days... Come on, Steve! You of all people know what it feels like to be poked and prodded around like that all the time! It's inhumane!" James's voice cracked in frustration, but still Steve stood his ground.

"This conversation is over, Bucky. You're going until they tell you you don't need to anymore. They know what's best for you. You should know that by now." Steve said firmly and evenly, picking up the plate he'd dropped and scrubbing at it again punishingly.

"That's bullshit!" James screamed, his fists balled and shaking as he struggled not to send his metal fist through the drywall. "I'm not a fucking child! I can manage my own god-damned treatment, thank you very much!" Steve set the clean plate on the drying rack next to him, then turned to face his friend sympathetically.

"James, just let it go. For me? We've been down this road so many times... I'm so sick of fighting about it, when all I'm trying to do is what's best for you! Why do you always fight against me when I'm just trying to take care of you?"

With that, James completely shut down, walking straight out of their tiny apartment, and slamming the door as he left. On his way around the side of the building, James saw that Steve had left his motorcycle uncovered in the drive, his spare key tucked up under the wheelwell like it always was. James felt a pang of guilt as he pushed up the kickstand and walked the bike to the edge of the drive. He could hear Steve blasting one of the old records he loved from their open window, blowing off steam as James kick-started the motorcycle and pulled away. He had no idea where he planned on running to, as he drove through the countryside, but the further he drived, the worse he felt about it. Sinking deep into that familiar depression, all of the worst thoughts James fought on a constant basis drilled at him relentlessly in the drone of the motorcycle engine.

' _You are not a man. You are nothing. You are nothing but a tool to be used and discarded when it no longer holds value. Without value, your life is meaningless. And if your life is meaningless, no one will care if you're gone_.'

The mantra continued to loop in his head as he accelerated faster and faster, tearing down the rural road as the sun set around him. After the sun dropped below the horizon, James finally decided to stop at a convenience store to find out where he was.

As he shoved open the doorway, tucking the key into his jacket pocket, James made his way to the front of the store.

"Hey, I'm, uh, not from around here. What county are we in?" James asked the question, actually looking up at the counter for the first time. He immediately shot his eyes at the ground guiltily as temptation crossed his mind when he saw the bottles of liquor lining the shelves behind the cashier's shoulders.

"This's Seneca Hill, next is Eaton to the south." The cashier drawled flatly. "You gonna buy anything, buddy, 'cause otherwise I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

Licking his lips, James said the five words he never wanted to hear himself utter again. He already despised himself for the way he'd overreacted, self-hatred burning deep in his chest when he licked his lips and said,

"How much is that fifth?" He nodded at a bottle of cheap vodka on the counter.

"$16.55, out the door." The cashier droned disinterestedly. "You want a bag?" He asked as James dropped the money on the table and grabbed the cheap liquor in one quick move, turning on his heel and leaving in a rush. "Hey, you forgot your change!" The cashier shouted after him, but James paid him no attention, instead tearing the plastic cap off the bottle and throwing back a swig of the foul drink in a fraction of a moment.

\--

As the phone hit the dresser with a loud thud, James saw a scrap of paper taped to the mirror, and recognized Clint's hasty chicken-scratches that read:

_James-_

_You were still sleeping soundly when Nat and I got up around 10. We didn't want to wake you because you looked like you could use a good night's rest. I'm headed to the mechanic to get my car towed while Natasha updates our route to the safehouse and picks up some supplies._

_Feel free to grab a shower and a smoke if you want it- you'll probably wake up with a pretty bad hangover if last night's bathroom rendesvous was any indication. Take your time and relax, the room is booked until 4._

_Call me when you're feeling up to it and we can meet for lunch or something. 555-0163._

_-Clint_

_PS. You should probably call Steve. Nat talked to him rather briefly this morning, so he knows you're alright, but now that he's not worried sick, he is probably pretty pissed._

 

Clint's pack of cigarettes sat open next to the note, another carefully rolled spliff hanging halfway out of the box. James sighed, stepping back toward the bathroom, and taking the pack with him even though he knew he probably shouldn't indulge in the narcotic again.

***

As the bathroom filled with steam, James sat on the counter next to the sink, ignoring the nagging guilt and lighting the joint, inhaling deeply. He could feel the acrid smoke clawing at his lungs, gasping as he finally dispelled the smoke with a cough. The coughing quickly turned to choking and ended with a loud, unpleasant gag that left him reeling. Stubbing out the spliff, James stepped into the stream of hot water quickly, allowing the heat to sink into his skin, tingling and turning bright red in the boiling spray. He couldn't help but sigh heavily as his body adjusted to the blistering temperature of the shower, trying to wrap his head around exactly what had happened over the course of the last 24 hours; between the fight with Steve, falling off the wagon yet again, and then running into Clint Barton after eight years, completely out of the blue - it was surreal, to be sure.

Running a hand through his long, greasy hair, James rubbed gingerly at the spot along his hairline where he'd collided with the tree and an aura burst stars in his eyes. Part of him was extremely thankful that he hadn't been driving more than 15-20 miles an hour, and that he hadn't hit a more visible spot, figuring the bruise was probably a pretty angry shade of purple at the moment.

Taking the tiny bottle of shampoo and the bar of soap, he made quick work of cleaning himself. The water was getting colder with each passing moment as James rushed to finish scrubbing himself clean of any evidence of the early morning's festivities. James felt his heart pound in his chest as he remembered the scratch of Clint's stubble when he'd kissed him before they fell asleep hours ago. His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he knew what he'd experienced the night before could never become anything more than a quick fling for Clint and Natasha, but in the same breath, he wished it could last just a little longer. It had been years since James had been intimate with anyone, and the fear of losing Clint's affection over again gripped at his chest like a vice.

The water was ice cold when James finally forced himself to step out of the shower, carefully drying himself off with one of the thin motel towels. Crossing the room, James picked up his clothes off the floor slowly, dressing himself one limb at a time. His headache was finally beginning to abate slightly, but anxiety still gripped him as James realized it was time to call Steve. He picked up the damaged phone, half hoping it wouldn't be able to complete the call for one reason or another- his heart sank when it started to dial without incident- as he made his way onto the cement porch in front of the motel room. He leaned heavily against the black metal railing, liberating a real cigarette from Clint's pack and lighting it as the phone rang once, and then-

"Buck? Christ, where the fuck are you?" Steve sounded panicked and tired over the tinny phone speaker.

"Relax, Stevie, I'm fine." James told him calmly and evenly over the phone. "I'm at some skeevy motel out near that old diner we used to go to when we moved out here."

"In Eaton?" The disappointment in his friend's voice nearly broke James right then and there.

"Look, Steve, I don't have an excuse. I made a big mistake yesterday. After the fight-" James had to force himself to say it, knowing he'd hate himself more if he denied it like a coward when Steve asked, as he undoubtedly would. "I- I drank a fifth of vodka and crashed your bike in the woods." He burned with shame when Steve said nothing on the other end for a very long time. "I fucked up... Just like I always do." He ended flatly.

"Buck, we can talk about it later." Steve paused for a moment before he spoke again. "The woman who called me this morning... All she said was "He's safe.". Then she just hung up..." Steve seemed furious and terrified all at the same time. "Who the fuck was that, James? Where did you spend last night?"

"I-" James started, immediately knowing how Steve would react to hearing Clint's name. From the moment they met, Steve had always maintained that Clint Barton was a bad influence on every aspect of James's life. They brought out competitive, dangerous and addictive habits in each other, and Steve did everything he could to convince James to end all contact with him when Clint went to jail for the first time. "I uh- I actually ran into uh, Clint, and his girlfriend at the diner last night for the first time since..." James trailed off. "Apparently their car broke down outside town and they were waiting for the mechanic to open up in the morning."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" Steve screamed, ending the call with a click, leaving James to sit in stunned silence, unsure of what would happen now.

Picking up the scrap of paper from the dresser once more, James sat on the edge of the unmade bed with his head in his hand. He sighed as he looked at his phone nervously. He knew how much hatred Steve harbored for Clint despite never having actually spent more than a few moments in his company. When they were young, James had once told Clint all the things Steve would say about him, but Clint just shrugged it off with a 'you can't please everyone' attitude. It both impressed and annoyed James to no end.

After talking to Steve, James found himself having a difficult time working up the courage to call Clint. Finally, James willed himself to dial his number and press the "send" button. After the phone rang without picking up for a full minute, James half-wondered if he hadn't misdialed until he finally heard a loud shuffling on the other line followed by Clint's voice groggily mumbling,

"Mmmhello?" He sounded like he'd just woken up.

"Hey Clint, it's James." He said, realizing that Clint had probably already gathered that.

"Oh, g'morning!" Clint chimed sleepily back at him. "Is 'Tasha back at the motel yet?" James cast a glance around the room on the off chance that she had snuck back in without him noticing, but he was definitely alone.

"No, I haven't seen her this morning." James's heart pounded in his chest as he started, "Clint-" but hesitated, not knowing if Clint would particularly care about Steve's reaction to his reentry into their lives.

"Yes, James?" Clint sounded fully awake now, quiet concern peaking in his voice.

"I talked to Steve a few minutes ago. Just before I called you."

"Oh?" James thought he could hear a slight bristle in Clint's voice. "And how did that go?"

"He was, uh, apparently less than enthusiastic about Natasha's way of handling things this morning." Clint laughed gleefully, and the sound made James's stomach churn with anxiety.

"Yeah, she's pretty one-of-a-kind!" Clint laughed once more as James struggled to keep himself together. Panic was threatening to engulf him as Clint just lightly laughed off all the turmoil James was feeling in that moment.

"Clint, this isn't some joke!" James blurted out quickly, "Steve demanded to know where I was last night... and who I was with! I couldn't lie to him, Clint- he's the reason I'm even alive today, for God's sake!" James's voice took on a manic tone as he talked. "Clint, I told him the truth. Or at least, part of it. Steve knows you're nearby, and he'll probably come looking for me." Clint could hear the fear in James's voice, trying to console him as he replied,

"Then let him, James. He and I need to talk some things out anyway."

James was already on the border of a panic attack as he talked frantically with Clint, his breath nearly stopped when he heard the sound of a key scraping in the lock from outside. Panicking, James shot a glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table beside him, but it was nowhere near 4 o'clock in the afternoon. A deeply ingrained switch flipped in James's head, just for a moment; his heart raced uncontrollably as he couldn't supress a familiar flash of bright light and sharp pain behind his eyes. A fraction of a second later, Natasha opened the door carefully, her graceful arms packed full of grocery sacks.

"Hello, James." Natasha greeted him cheerily, but Bucky stared straight ahead, unmoving. "Oh, sorry!" She added, a little quieter, as she noticed the phone gripped to his ear, his knuckles gone white.

"Bucky?" Clint sounded concerned at the extended period of silence on the other end of the line. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, uh, y-yeah..." James stammered, suddenly unable to control how his hands were shaking as he was barely able to grip the phone. "I'm, uh... I'm fine." Keeping her eyes on James as she deposited the grocery bags onto the dresser across the room, Natasha recognized the symptoms immediately. James was slipping into a panic attack, and a bad one at that. Natasha could hear Clint talking slowly to James as she got closer, finally easing the phone out of the man's quivering hand and putting it to her own ear.

"...Bucky, can you hear me?" She could hear fear starting to creep into Clint's voice as he said it.

"Clint, it's me. I just made it back." Natasha spoke soothingly as she gently ran her fingers through James's hair and massaged his scalp lightly with her free hand. "James is with me, Clint, but he doesn't look to be feeling very well right now. I'm going to need to call you back in a little bit."

Clint's stomach lurched uncomfortably with worry, but he tried to supress it as best he could.

"Okay." He chewed his lip momentarily before saying, "They said the repair was a pretty simple fix. Should be ready in about an hour."

"Glad to hear it." Natasha replied, only half paying attention to what Clint was saying as she continued to trace patterns across James's scalp lightly with her fingertips. James was still sitting rigid at the edge of the bed, his head having settled back into his shaking hands once more. "Give me a call when it's ready. I think I'm going to try to take James to get some lunch and some fresh air."

"Be careful." Clint added before ending the call. Natasha carefully set the destroyed phone on the bedside table, turning back to face her full attention on James, who had gone unnaturally pale. Sweat shone on his forehead and neck as Natasha stood in front of him cautiously.

"James, do you think you can walk with me? We should get you a hot meal." He did not speak as she gently steered him out of the bed by the elbow, tucking a stray lock of his hair behind one ear.

***

As Clint heard the line go dead, his heart was racing with worry. Was James really alright? Exactly what had Steve said to him to put him in such a state? Clint wanted to kick himself for the way he had dismissed the younger man's fear, knowing only a fraction of the horrors James had faced in the last decade, coupled with the many times he'd seen Natasha in the same state; he felt like a massive idiot as he sat in the lobby of the repair shop. Sighing, Clint tried to shake the fear, nodding to himself as he knew that if anyone was prepared to take care of James in that moment, it was certainly Natasha. She was his best friend, and he trusted her with his life. If he ever really comitted any thought to it, which he hadn't (he told himself firmly), she could easily be the love of his life. But they maintained an understanding; an unspoken agreement to keep titles out of it. They knew the bond they had, and that was all that really mattered.

Rubbing his fingers to his eyelids sleepily, Clint stood up and walked across the lobby toward a filthy, lukewarm pot of coffe that was sitting on a burner on the counter in front of him. He poured himself a styrofoam cup of the sludge and sniffed at it, crinkling his nose at the smell. Shrugging, Clint lifted the cup to his mouth, but choked audibly as a grubby-looking mechanic approached him.

"I, uh, really wouldn't drink that if I were you... It's, like, two days old."

"Aw, coffee..." Clint looked down at the drink, slightly horrified.

"You're car's ready to go now," the mechanic paused and then added, "As it'll ever be, that is." The mechanic had seemed almost offended at the condition the old car had been towed to the shop in. "You know, if you ever wanted to consider selling, I know a lot of guys around here who'd love that baby as a side project. It's a real classic, you know?"

Clint set the rancid cup of coffee on the counter next to him and shook his head absently.

"Sorry, man. I know it's shitty and all, but it's mine. And you gotta make your own things work, right?" The mechanic shrugged at Clint's vague rambling, looking slightly disappointed.

"Well, I can get you checked out over here if you're ready, then."

When Clint heard the total for the repair, he knew he was being ripped off, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He desperately wanted to hurry through the rest of the transaction so he could finally go check on James and Natasha. Handing the mechanic a wad of crumpled cash from his pocket, Clint smiled awkwardly.

"Keep the change, man." The mechanic nodded, bewildered at the pile of money in his hand as Clint snatched his key off the counter and rushed quickly out the door. He hadn't made it more than halfway into the parking lot when Clint was blindsided by a sucker punch that felt like a freight train.

***

"Do you want to talk about it?" Natasha asked James evenly as they walked slowly down the rural road in the mid-afternoon sunlight. Some of the color had returned to his face, and his hands had stopped shaking uncontrollably, but James remained otherwised the same- disconcertingly quiet and uncomfortably rigid.

"It might help." Natasha tried once more. "I actually know a thing or two about what you're going through." Finally, James stopped in his tracks and looked at her.

"And what possibly makes you think that?" He was defensive and frustrated when he finally spoke to her, though if it was with her or himself, Natasha really wasn't sure.

"James, I want to tell you something, but I know it's hard to believe." He crossed his arms, but the look on his face invited her to continue. "My full name is Natalia Arianovna Romanov. I was raised in Kiev, Russia; indoctrinated in a red-room program devoted to training little girls into highly effective killing machines from childhood. I worked for them from the time I was a little girl, until almost a decade ago, and in that time, I had my mind wiped more times that I really care to even know." James's brows furrowed as she told him, he seemed to be processing it as she continued. "The first time I met Clint Barton, he was working for SHIELD. He had orders to assassinate me, but he made a different call. Instead, Clint convinced them to recruit me. He saw me as an asset when everyone else labelled me an unstable threat." James chewed the inside of his cheek silently, his cold eyes trying to study her features, but she was impossible to read. "I understand a lot of what you're experiencing. The hallucinations, the anxiety attacks... They're fragments of a life we never agreed to live. And they never really go away. But, James, when you have someone you can talk to about it... Someone who really listens and knows what you're going through... It can get easier." At that, James laughed derisively.

"Even if what you tell me is true, Natalia," the smooth Russian accent that flowed out involuntarily as he said the name sent a shiver down his spine, "I'm pretty sure I've also been 'working on it' for the better part of a decade." James scoffed venemously. "I'm pretty well aware of exactly how fucked up I am on my own, thanks." Natasha shrugged back at him, knowing the exact emotions running through him in that moment; she'd been through the frustration of regression so many times that she'd completely lost track.

"James- I'm not about to pretend it's an exact science. You already said it yourself, at the diner yesterday: recovery is a one-day-at-a-time process, and it's different for every person. Just because someone else who's been through it before seems to be better adjusted than you feel on a given day doesn't invalidate the progress you've made. All I'm asking is that you give me a chance to try to help." She put her hand on his flesh-and-bone shoulder and squeezed it gently. "But I'll only do it if you'll let me."

***

 

 


	3. "When You Just Can't Shake the Heavy Weight of Living"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when Steve and Clint talk to each other for the first time in almost a decade?  
> Hint: It isn't very pretty.
> 
> Lots of angst and character development in this chapter, but no porn (sorry 'bout that). Trigger warnings for alcoholism, depression, ptsd, anxiety and addiction.
> 
> Thanks for the encouragement to keep this going! It means a lot.

"Steve!" Clint could half hear a man's voice shouting the name as he felt his nose break from the force of the hit. He stumbled backward, immediately attempting to regain his footing as he quickly rolled out of the way of another punishing blow. Clint knew he could hold his own in a fistfight against most men, but his chances were slim against Steve Rogers, America's own Super Soldier. Clint's greatest strength lie in projectile warfare, long-distances and stealth, not bare-knuckled brawling against someone practically genetically designed for hand-to-hand combat. Clint grunted when he couldn't move fast enough and Steve's massive fist connected with his eye this time. His vision blurred for a few moments as he heard scuffling and the sound of two men arguing with one another.

"Steve, that's enough!" The man who'd spoken earlier shouted once more, apparently stopping the Captain from launching another vicious swing.

"Let go, Sam!" Steve shouted, Clint assumed anyway; he couldn't really recognize the sound of Rogers's voice from their single encounter years before, and even if he could, Clint was fairly certain the Super Soldier experiments could have totally changed it anyway.

"Not unless you're done hitting him." Sam stated flatly, still physically holding Captain America back. "I didn't agree to give you a ride just so you could beat the shit out of this dude. You told me you just wanted to talk to him."

"He doesn't deserve the privelege." Steve spit bitterly as Clint's vision finally cleared. His head ached horribly, and he could already feel his nose bleeding heavily as his eye started to swell.

"Nice to see you, too, Cap." Clint groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tilted his head back. It was definitely broken, but it didn't appear to be too badly misaligned. He took a deep breath and pressed it the rest of the way back into place, tears springing into his eyes as he heard the cartilege crack slightly with the effort.

Steve seemed to have finally begun to calm down, as the man Steve had called Sam stepped away from him and toward Clint, extending a hand to help him off the ground.

"Hey man, uh, sorry about that." Clint wiped his palms on his pantlegs quickly, then took Sam's outstretched hand. He helped ease him up off the concrete slowly. "Sam Wilson. I'm one of the group counselors at the VA." He introduced himself, shaking Clint's hand.

"Clint Barton." Clint returned, eyeing Steve cautiously.

"Hey!" One of the mechanics from the repair shop stepped outside the door and yelled across the lot at them. "If you're gonna get in a fight, take it the hell away from here, boys!" Steve's narrowed eyes set on Clint viciously, and for a moment, Clint wondered if he would come after him again, but instead, Steve thumbed at his nose and turned to shout back at the mechanic near the door.

"Don't worry, we're going." Sam looked at Steve questioningly, but Steve still kept his eyes trained on Clint as he turned back again. "Sam, I need you to give us some time to talk. Could you go for a drive or something?"

"I really don't think that's a good idea, Steve." Sam warned, but Clint waived him off, eager to have his chance to speak with the Captain, just the two of them.

"No, Sam, this needs to happen... We both have some things we need to get off our chests." Clint swiped at the sticky blood under his nose with the back of his hand, accidentally brushing his septum and grimacing as it sent tears back into his eyes again. Reluctantly, Sam turned back toward his car and unlocked it, climbing into the driver's seat and lowering the window to speak to them.

"You've got thirty minutes. I'm gonna go find a fast food joint around here... if there is anything this far out." With that, Sam started the car and pulled away slowly, his eyes still trained on the rear-view mirror, making sure Steve didn't make any rash decisions, but two men stood there for a long time, just talking, until Sam was too far away to tell anymore.

"What makes you think you can just show up out of nowhere after almost a decade of absence, and fuck his life up all over again?" Steve was the first to speak once Sam had given them their privacy. Clint had just stared at him awkwardly, not knowing how to start. Of course Clint knew Steve was talking about James, but the statement hit him almost as hard as the sucker punch had, nonetheless.

"Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?!" Clint launched back, his fists shaking in anger.

"What do you think it means, asshole?" Steve seethed. "I want to know exactly why the fuck Mr. Clint-"I've-Been-to-Jail-More-Times-Than-Most-People-Go-to-the-Dentist" Barton, thought he would ever be allowed to contact our mutual friend after the fucking horrible influence you've had on his life in the past? The one person who brings out the most toxic qualities of my closest friend's addictive personality and encourages them. Why would I ever let you two see each other again?" Clint couldn't meet Steve's eyes as he spoke; the man had a way of burrowing into all of Clint's biggest personal flaws and using them to his advantage, and Clint knew he had no way to refute the claims. He knew he had been a troublemaker when he was young, but he liked to think he'd at least changed some for the better in the last decade.

"Rogers, I will fully admit, I was an asshole when we were growing up. Life wasn't easy. I did what I could to survive. But, it's been a long time. Things are different now, really different. I'm a different person than I was back then! At least, I hope I am." Clint mumbled the last words, losing his confidence as Steve scoffed at him. Clint quirked an eyebrow, comparing the massive man who stood before him to the scrawny, sickly boy he'd met so many years ago. It was hard to believe they were the same person physically, but Clint had no doubts by the look on Steve's face that they were one in the same. "But, I gotta know why, Steve." Clint's voice cracked as he continued. "Why the fuck didn't anyone one call me? Why didn't HE call me... or even write me to tell me he was alive? Even if it was just a 'we found him, and he's alive' and nothing more." It was Steve's turn to avoid Clint's gaze now. "Why did I have to find out just by mere fucking CHANCE that one of the people I cared about most in life has been alive all this goddamn time?!" There was pain in Clint's voice when he screamed it at the Soldier, and it had nothing to do with the blood running down his lips and chin.

Steve kept his eyes locked on the pavement, his hands shoved passively into his pockets as he avoided Clint's gaze.

"You want to know why?" He started, still staring at the ground. "When he got back to the states for the first time, Buck refused to let people to see him; not anyone, not even the doctors and nurses at the VA Hospital." Steve swallowed. "He was ashamed of the person he'd become, and he had a really hard time dealing with the post-traumatic stress." There was immense sadness in Steve's voice as he continued speaking. "Bucky was only captured because of a solo surveillance order I gave him. Our regiment knew the KGB cell was heavily armed, but we had no idea they had spotted us scouting the location earlier in the day, and when he planned to go in without backup, we thought nothing of it... To this day, I can't forgive myself for letting it happen." Steve sounded tired and angry when he said it. "It took us almost four years to track him down. Four fucking years too long. By the time we got him out, he wasn't the same person anymore." Steve sighed, finally meeting Clint's eyes for the first time since starting to speak. "He spent his whole first year back in the States comitted to a Psychiatric institution in DC for God's sake. He was completely isolated and terrified twenty four hours a day, and when I couldn't stomach watching it from afar anymore, I filed to have him moved him out here with me so I could take care of him full-time. From that moment on, I gave up on ever going back to being a soldier. My number one concern is making sure my friend is taken care of." He signed, resignedly.

"Six years is a long time, Steve." Clint said, his voice strained. "Don't you think it might have lifted his spirits a little, reconnecting with a familiar face who wasn't linked to the abduction? The James I met last night wasn't so completely different from the Bucky I knew eight years ago. Maybe a little worse for the wear when we found him, but who hasn't had too much to drink at one time or another?" Steve let out a sound that Clint couldn't identify; something of a dry, barking laugh with bitterness laced in.

"You didn't let me finish, Barton." Steve spoke coldly now, he no longer seemed to have any patience for Clint's questions. "Did you know that Bucky's an alcoholic?" Clint seemed taken aback. "He wasn't more than a casual drinker back in the day, but substance abuse really became his thing when he finally got back out in the free world." Steve's jaw clenched and then unclenched again. "He actually tried to hide it from me at first, getting drunk while I was at work and disappearing for hours on end, only to show up at four o'clock the next morning, soused to the gills with some broad in tow who was just as annihilated as him." Clint understood where Steve was going, but it still hurt to hear it out loud. "Do you think I would have wanted you around him when he was doing that shit? So you two could get fucked up together, then you could convince him to fuck you when he was too drunk to err on the side of rational thinking?" Steve spat the last words with disgust, "Yes, Clint, I knew about your mutual little crush. It's the biggest reason why I've worked so hard to keep you two apart all these years. For his own fucking good! Don't you understand it now? You're fucking toxic, Barton!"

Now there were tears welling in Steve's eyes, and shame burning on Clint's cheeks as the blood that ran from his nose and down his chin had slowed and begun to dry uncomfortably. "That's why I want to know, what gives you the right to just waltz into town the same fucking night Bucky goes on a bender, steals AND crashes my motorcycle, and throws away two years of sobriety?! TWO! FUCKING! YEARS!" Steve roared at him, a single tear finally spilling down his cheek as he quickly brushed it away with his hand. Clint shook his head, his mouth gaping open slightly as he struggled for something to say. "I'm only trying to do what's right for Bucky, to help him heal, and instead he treats me like I'm his enemy... He shuts me out and then completely shuts down. Guess old habits die hard." Clint's heart sank at Steve's impassioned words.

"Steve, hand to God, I had no idea... About any of it." Clint felt guilt bore into his chest as he thought of the way he'd convinced James to smoke, and his enthusiastic encouragement of their sexual experimentation thereafter, exactly as Rogers had predicted. Clint felt horrible, as though he'd acted upon James like a predator the night before. "You're right, Steve. And I'm sorry. I'll leave him alone for good if you really want me to." He finally conceded, palms turned up in surrender as the pit of his stomach dropped out at the thought of never seeing the younger man again after being reunited so briefly.

"If I could have it my way, you're damn sure you'd never talk to him again." Steve ground out bitterly. "But Sam tells me the only thing worse than you coming back into his life, is you coming back for twenty four hours and then fucking off forever. I can't do that to Buck... it'd destroy him. And he's fragile enough as it is." Clint was somewhat relieved but it didn't make him feel any less horrible. "But if you two stay in contact, there needs to be some ground rules." Steve said determined, and while it grated at Clint slightly, he nodded affirmatively, willing to try anything to aid in Bucky's rehabilitation. "I'd prefer to be around whenever you're together. I don't want the two of you to be alone." Steve told him without irony; Clint's nostrils flared slightly when he said it.

"Look... you and I both know I can't agree to that." Steve's eyes narrowed, reading Clint's reaction as Clint's cheeks flushed slightly and he looked upward, a hand rubbing at the bruises on his shoulder guiltily.

"So it's true, then." There was disgust in Steve's voice, a hatred Clint didn't know if he would ever be able to shake surfacing hotly once more. "God damn it! Why couldn't you just keep it in your fucking pants, Barton!" His face burned in shame as he couldn't meet Steve's judgemental stare.

***

"So, how do you do it?" James asked Natasha carefully. From what she could tell, he seemed to be finally starting to open up again, but she didn't want to press it and make him uncomfortable.

"What do you mean?" She asked gently, a small smile quirked at the corner of her mouth as she looked at his softening features.

"How do you seem so well-adjusted all the time? Despite..." He trailed off slowly, but she knew what he meant.

"Well, like I said, having someone who's been through it all before to listen can be really helpful." She mused, elaborating as she continued, "Plus, working for SHIELD I have mandatory psych evals regularly, and access to some of the best physicians in the country when I feel like I need them."

"And when you say 'someone who's been through it all before'? Are you talking about some kind of support group? 'Cause I've got to tell you, I've been to a few around here, and they just aren't my thing." James asked with curiosity.

"Honestly, Clint's really the person who helps reign me in the most when I'm struggling. He's been through some shit before, too... Nothing of the same caliber as you or I, but..." She trailed off this time too, as James's mouth hung open slightly. "Call it an occupational hazard in our line of work." With that, Natasha shrugged noncommitally. "Oh, finally!"

They were just a half a block away from the fast food restaurant now, James's stomach audibly rumbling as Natasha giggled at him affectionately. James wasn't completely back to normal, but he could finally feel himself start to even out, thankful for Natasha's presence and positivity.

"James, I know it's not easy to talk about sometimes..." She told him seriously as he swung open the restaurant door and held it for her. "But I'm really glad you let me listen." He nodded at her thankfully, unable to really say anything else.

James sat quietly in a booth at the back corner of the restaurant as Natasha ordered their food. She made her way back to the alcove carefully, the food balanced precariously on a plastic serving tray as she weaved through the empty dining room. James thanked her appreciatively as she handed him a greasy cheeseburger and a soft drink, and he immediately tore into it. His stomach had been achingly empty after the binge and purge from the night before, the hunger-inducing effects of the marijuana he'd ingested only making the stomach pains worse the longer he'd gone without eating anything. At first, James had a difficult time eating, as he frequently did when he was feeling particularly anxiety-ridden. The food was flavorless in his mouth, and the texture disgusted him, but the more he forced himself to eat, the better he started to feel.

"I don't usually eat fast food... Does it taste alright?" Natasha asked him as she watched him eat appreciatively.

"Lousy," James replied honestly. "But having any kind of food in my stomach is helping some at this point." She beamed at him happily as he continued to force himself to eat the greasy food, remarking to herself just how widely his moods could range based on his environment and mood. It was reassuring to know he could still have good days; she knew she could help him work with that, to make the bad days more tolerable.

As James began to crumple the garbage from his meal and carry it to the trash bin, he heard a familiar voice shout his name from behind him.

"Hey! James!" When he turned around, he noticed the voice belonged to Sam Wilson, one of the VA Counselors for a support group he'd been attending since being discharged from the substance rehabilitation program two years ago. James didn't have time to be embarassed about his relapse as Sam approached him looking flushed, as though he'd been concerned about something in his rush to get James's attention.

"Oh, uh... Hey, Sam?" James managed to reply.

"So, there's something going down right now that you should probably know about-" Sam blurted out, his eyes wide as he rushed to tell James about Steve and Clint's fistfight-turned-civil-conversation. "Steve asked me to give him a ride out to the country so he could come pick you up..." Sam began, "But then he asked me to make a side stop over at this mechanic shop?" Natasha's eyes shot open. She'd been silently wondering why Clint hadn't called them back on the repair since she'd ordered the food and sat down. Eyeing James cautiously, Sam continued. "Steve, uh, he sucker punched your buddy... I think he might've broken his nose." Natasha rolled her eyes. 'Leave it to Clint, of all people, to get himself hurt while on vacation...' she thought to herself.

"Why'd you just leave them?" James asked frantically, his heart pounding hard in his chest once again.

"I broke up the fight first." Sam looked back at James incredulously. "But they asked me to leave, so they could talk alone." Sam nodded as he added, "They both made it pretty clear that they wanted privacy."

Natasha grabbed James's shoulder, squeezing it gently to ground him, then asked Sam,

"Do you think you could give us a ride? Clint was getting our car fixed at that shop, and I don't know if it's finished yet." Sam nodded again at her.

"I was about to suggest it myself. They looked civil when I left, but who knows by now..." Sam sounded concerned. "Steve Rogers is one of the most selfless people I've ever met, but he's got one hell of a stubborn streak. Especially concerning you, James."

***

It didn't happen often, but Clint honestly didn't know what to say. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as Steve continued to stare at him, hatred burning on his face.

"You know you two can never... do that again, right?" Steve said awkwardly.

"Look, Steve, I feel awful about it. I really do. When you say it out loud, it was a really shitty thing for me to do." Clint's voice cracked as he finally broke his silence. "But where do we even go from here? I mean, Bucky has to get some say in all this- It's his life after all." Steve crossed his arms obtusely as he shook his head.

"Every time I give him a chance to prove himself, to make big decisions for himself, something bad always happens! He's just not ready-" Steve was cut off before he could finish speaking by Clint.

"So maybe your way just isn't working! Maybe it's time to try something different! A change of scenery couldn't hurt him, could it? Even for just a few days!" Steve just growled angrily, his lip curling on one side.

"Barton, do you even realize how easily he can be set off?" Steve asked, nearly pleading. "I don't think you can see just how damaged he really is."

"Maybe it's because I can see him as more than just damaged goods!" Clint hurled back at him. "He isn't just someone who has to be taken care of, Steve. He's a human being, with his own thoughts and dreams and desires... He's not some obligation for you to feed your own fucking ego!" Clint shouted, gesturing pointedly with his hands. He was quieter when he spoke again. "Look, the woman who called you this morning," Steve huffed angrily, "Well, her name is Natasha. She's my best friend and partner. We're a two-man SHIELD Strike Team, and we're pretty damned good at it, too." Steve nodded with recognition.

"SHIELD, huh? They sent me a job offer when I got back from the war... At the time, I didn't want to be too far away from Buck, so I turned it down. They do national security and intel, right?" Clint nodded. "Gotta say, I never expected you to be working in the government's pocket, Barton." Steve shook his head slightly.

"When SHIELD recruited Natasha, she defected from Russia. She was a spy working for the KGB, and she'd been through some terrible things... Things I'd be willing to bet are on par with Bucky's experience." Steve looked at him, side-eyed.

"I don't think I like where you're going with this, Clint."

"Through some intense treatment with SHIELD's contacts-some of the best psycological and medical treatments available, Natasha was able to make substantial progress. Years later, she's one of the best agents I've ever had the pleasure of working with... James and Natasha... I think having the two of them together, reserving time to talk if he needs it- Steve, it could be really good for him." Clint told Steve earnestly. "Who knows? Maybe he could even come and visit me at SHIELD someday-"

Steve closed the gap between them impossibly quickly, placing one massive hand on Clint's throat, and squeezing his windpipe tightly as Clint tried, in vain, to swallow anxiously.

"If you think, for even one second, that I'm going to let him get near ANY kind of military organization again-" Steve squeezed even tighter for emphasis, "I'll change my mind completely, and you'll never see him again." Finally, Steve released Clint's throat, and he coughed in pain.

"Steve!" Sam shouted from behind them, rushing up and shoving himself between them once again. "That's enough!" Steve turned angrily out of Sam's reach only to see Bucky, staring at Clint's battered face and bruised neck, with a shellshocked expression, while a beautiful red-head (he assumed to be the 'Natasha' Clint had been speaking about) had her hand gently on his arm. Wheezing slightly, Clint suddenly realized how bad he must have looked when he saw the horror etched on James's face.

"We're done here." Steve said the words coldly, not looking at Clint any longer as he motioned toward Bucky. "Let's go home, Buck." But James remained rooted to the spot, refusing to move until Steve heard what he had to say.

"What the fuck, Steve?" He asked, his voice wavering. "This is not who you used to be..." There was so much sorrow and pain in the way he spoke as he motioned toward Clint. "What could Clint have done, to make you do this?" Steve refused to meet Bucky's gaze as he spoke. Clint cleared his throat, wheezing through his sore windpipe before he answered James's question.

"I asked him if he'd be willing to try something new... For your treatment." He coughed again deeply, the pressure making his whole head to throb painfully. "Told him about 'Tasha's experience with counseling through SHIELD, and how I thought it might help for you two to make plans to talk every once in awhile."

"Steve-" James looked taken aback. "Is this true?"

"He also insinuated that it would be a good idea for you to join up with him at SHIELD-" Steve started hotly, but Clint cut him off quickly.

"All I said was that maybe he could come and visit me! Maybe I could set him up with the same specialist who helped Nat-" Clint defended angrily.

"And that's when I said there was no way in hell I'd let Bucky go anywhere near military service again!" Steve screamed back at him as they nearly resorted to blows again; Sam stood firmly between them, one hand on each man's chest.

"It's for your own good, Buck." Steve said as he finally turned to looked back at his friend angrily. "Now say goodbye to Clint and Natasha. I don't think you should see them again for a while."

"No." James stood his ground, his fists balled. "Because it's not what's best for me, it's just what you want. And you know it!" Steve tried to shake his head, but James ignored him. "I'll be the first to admit, some of the decisions I made in the last twenty four hours haven't been my best," Clint's heart sunk as James said it, "But I'm not ready to cut ties with this huge part of my life that's just been returned to me. There's no way you can be that selfish, Steve!"

"But he's not GOOD for you!" Steve roared back at him. "I've seen this so many times! Bad things happen when the two of you are together, Buck!" James bit his lip. "Don't you remember some of the things he's done- things that landed him in jail and almost got you stuck in there with him?!" James sighed before he answered his friend earnestly.

"Steve, a lot about a person can change in almost a decade, and so far, Clint's convinced me to give him that chance. I at least deserve to try to make that judgement of character for myself, and you know it." Steve ran a hand through his hair angrily as he cast his eyes around the group that surrounded him.

"I told you, he's fucking toxic, Buck!" Steve shouted back at him. "A person can change things about themselves, but not everything. But some things just can't change. Don't think I don't know what he convinced you to do last night." He sounded disgusted and disappointed as James's cheeks flushed red. "But he doesn't care about you! He was just manipulating you to make you do what he wanted while you were drunk."

"Wait, just a-" Clint started to interject, but stopped when he heard the cold, gravelly tone in James's voice.

"You bastard." Bucky sounded angrier than Clint had ever seen him before, his burning eyes trained on Steve. "Who the fuck do you think you are? My parent? My legal guardian? My fucking keeper?!" James roared in anger now. "Yeah, you know what? We may have had sex last night! But for the record, it wasn't because I was drunk. It's my fucking choice who I fuck, and I don't give a shit about your opinions on it!"

"Stop acting like a goddamn child, Buck!" Steve fought back. "You're not well, and I'm trying to protect you."

"But I'm not a child! That's the whole fucking point!" James threw his hands into the air in frustration. "You can't blame every decision I make that you don't agree with on my mental health! That's just not fair!"

"For the sake of impartiality here, guys," Sam interjected, "I can see both sides of the argument here. After hearing about James and Clint's history, I do believe there's a potential for bad things to happen if they don't establish boundaries early on. But I have to admit, while I watched James and Natasha interact this afternoon, I saw James relax and open up more than I've seen him do in two whole years of therapy." Steve still had a hard time looking back at Sam as he spoke. "I don't think it's such a bad idea to think about some alternate treatment options, if James isn't happy with how it's going. But there needs to be some compromise here. From both sides." James cracked a small smile as Sam said it, taking a step toward the two men.

"Steve, I am very thankful for everything you've done for me, and I don't want you to think I'm ungrateful in the least. If anyone knows what you've sacrificed to help me, it's me! But I need you to know, I'm not happy here anymore. You and I both know I've been needing some change for a long time now!"

Steve was quiet for a very long moment.

"I know it's not easy to process, Steve." Sam continued, placing his hand on the blonde man's shoulder. "But you should give it some serious consideration. It really could benefit the both of you in the long run."

***

An hour later, the group had continued arguing back and forth at a stalemate until the manager of the repair shop personally walked them off the premesis, threatening to call the cops if he saw them "loitering in his lot" again (which earned a whopper of an eye-roll from Natasha). They all climbed awkwardly quiet into Clint's car, eventually parking next to Sam's about a half a block away, where they congregated between the two cars to talk a bit more.

After speaking calmly with Natasha and Sam for some time about what James was currently receiving, and exactly what he wanted out of his treatment, James was hopeful that Steve could be convinced to allow him to see Clint and Natasha on a semi-regular basis. The thought excited James, his heart racing heavily in his chest as, near the end of the conversation, Natasha asked Steve whether or not Bucky could accompany them for a portion of the trip they were currently heading on, but he was obstinate. After another stretch of silence, Natasha spoke again, stating her thoughts calmly and matter-of-factly.

"Steve, if you need some time to think it over, you can take a few days before you answer us. We really do want to help James just as much as you do, whether you believe us or not. Clint and I are leaving for a SHIELD safehouse just the next state over in a few hours. We were planning on staying there for the rest of the week for a vacation, of sorts. Maybe James could come to visit us for one or two days while we're still nearby." Steve still seemed to bristle at the thought of Clint and Bucky staying under the same roof, but he nodded slowly. "If you change your mind, we can get him the address."

"I'll think about it." He'd said stubbornly, but Clint somehow doubted it would go anywhere. Steve then turned and climbed into Sam's small sedan, beckoning James in after him. James cast a worried look over his shoulder at Clint and Natasha, but Clint tried his best to look reassuring.

"I'll talk to him about it, too." Sam had added as he opened the car door and climbed in, winking at Natasha when her lips quirked up into a small smile.

***

"You totally know he'll never let that happen, right?" Clint asked Natasha as soon as they were buckled into his car and driving back to the motel.

"Oh ye of little faith." Natasha said with a sing-song tone to her voice. Clint pouted at her from the driver's seat; his left eye had swollen significantly, turning a deep purple that tinged green around the corners. His nose still looked quite tender, and an itchy trail of blood had dried down his face haphazardly. "You look like hell, Ptista." She told him sympathetically.

"I feel like hell! Captain America just suckerpunched me... twice!" He coughed dryly. "Then he choked me out. And not in the kinky way!" She couldn't suppress a musical laugh as she watched him sympathetically from the passenger seat.

"Well, I think it's very sweet that you'd allow a Super Soldier to beat the shit out of you, all in the name of your sweet friend, Mr. Barnes." The familiar wicked grin flashed across her face as she quirked one perfect eyebrow and added, "He's quite cute, by the way. I very much approve."

"Yeah, last night was amazing." Clint smiled dreamily for a second, immediately frowning with guilt as he remembered the Cap's words. "'Tasha... Steve told me something today that I haven't been able to get out of my head since." She looked at him with concern when she noticed how perturbed he seemed. "He said that James is an alcoholic. He said he fell off the wagon pretty hard last night, and Steve thinks that's the reason he agreed to sleep with us last night was because I took advantage of him... Ever since he brought up the possibility, I've been so guilty, I-"

"Clint, just breathe for a minute." She motioned at him to try to calm him down. "James seemed pretty sure of himself when he was talking to Steve about it. Besides, most of the alcohol was out of his system by that point, if I'm imagining he was sick as long as you two were gone last night." Clint sighed, still unable to shake the feeling that he'd taken advantage of his friend, deeply. It made his heart sink. "Ptista, James is an adult, and he would like to be treated as an adult. Respect his decisions, because it's what he wants." She had him there, he thought to himself, then nodded at her in concession.

"I just wish Steve didn't make it into this whole big thing." Clint whined. "Dude has some serious control issues, I swear." Natasha thought for a moment, not as immediately dismissive as Clint had been.

"I don't know that he's trying to be controlling, Ptista. I think he is coming from a place of great love, but he has been taking care of James for so long that he thinks he knows best 100% of the time. And now that he's being told that his methods aren't working anymore, he doesn't know what to do." Clint shrugged noncomitally. "He really does think he's doing what's best for James, when it's really what's most convenient for him."

"I guess. It explains the actions, but it doesn't excuse them." Clint sighed. "And it still doesn't excuse him up and assaulting me in a public place!" He huffed and Natasha laughed again as they pulled into the motel parking lot. Natasha smiled back at him as Clint climbed out of his seat, with a pained groan.

"Now I'm kind of hoping Bucky didn't smoke that joint... My head fucking kills right now." He slowly made his way toward their room, squinting in the afternoon sunlight.

"Head right into the bathroom, Clint." Natasha joined him at the door to their room, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Let's get you cleaned up." Clint sighed heavily as he stumbled into the bathroom, closed the toilet seat and sat down on it. Natasha turned on the sink, soaking a clean wash cloth in warm water before she gingerly wiped at Clint's broken face with it, working from his chest, to his neck, to his chin, then up to his mouth and nose. He winced painfully, groaning when she gently scrubbed at the dried blood crusting the underside of his nose.

"Ahhhhhhh-" She immediately drew back, examining the swollen cartilege, but being careful not to touch it again. "Watch it, Nat."

"That looks broken, Clint." She said sympathetically.

"Yeah? It feels broken, too. I re-set it right after he hit me, but it's gonna be a while before the swelling goes down." He grumbled angrily. "Could you please get me some ice?"

"Sure, I'll be right back." Natasha said as she rounded the bathroom door. She left the room noiselessly as Clint finished washing his face carefully in the sink. He half-wrinkled his nose as he watched the blood and grime wash down, discoloring the white porcelain sink, before he remembered how painful that particular action proved to be in that exact moment.

Natasha returned with a styrofoam cup filled with ice and a first-aid kit in either hand.

"I found your first-aid kit in the car. Looks like it at least has some bandages..." Natasha smiled at him as she examined his clean face in the fluorescent bathroom light. "Well, you're looking a little better now."

"What, you mean 'battered and bloody' isn't your favorite look of mine?" He waggled his eyebrows at her as she grabbed the now soiled wash cloth from him, cleaning it with cold water in the sink as she responded,

"Let's just say, I've seen you look better." She wrapped three ice cubes from the cup into the now-slightly-less-soiled rag and handed it to Clint carefully. "Now let me help you." She began to bandage his nose carefully, a white strip of adhesive and gause covering the tender area. He held the bundle gently to his eye, grimacing when the cold ice cubes made contact with the purple and green-tinged flesh.

"Tell me the truth, 'Tasha," Clint said, his face suddenly serious. Her heart skipped a beat in fear at his drastic change in tone. "Will I ever be sexy again?" He asked her, completely serious. He only cracked and laughed when she snorted and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Shut up, Ptista." She laughed lightly before motioning behind her. "Help me bring the groceries to the car, we're hitting the road in 5 minutes."

***

 


	4. "Oh Lord, I'm Still Not Sure What I Stand For..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha head toward their vacation destination. James decides he needs to clear the air after Clint's encounter with Steve. Some plot things happen, but not a whole lot of it. And some smut occurs... Sorry for the posting delay. Writers block hit me bad on this chapter. It might be rougher than usual.

The sun began to hang low in the sky, just skimming across the horizon lazily as they crossed the state line. Clint yawned into the back of his hand sleepily as a sad song played over the radio, static cutting through the music occaisionally as they neared the edge of the broadcast's range.   
"Do you want to trade places?" Natasha asked when she heard him yawn. "I can drive the rest of the way, and you can close your eyes for a little while?" He scrubbed at his eyes quickly with one hand, grimacing as he forgot, accidentally rubbing against the purple, bruised tissue for the umpteenth time that day. He chewed his lip momentarily, debating her offer until he finally conceded,  
"I guess that does sound pretty nice. Next rest stop we pass, I'll pull over."  
"I'm hungry, aren't you?" Natasha asked, realizing that Clint hadn't really eaten anything all day. His stomach rumbled loudly in answer as he thought about food. "There's some sandwiches and chips in a cooler in the trunk. I packed it when we left the motel." He could have let go of the wheel and kissed her right there, going 90 miles an hour on the rural road.  
"You're the best." He told her, a grateful smile coloring his voice.  
"Oh, I know." She smirked back at him from across the cab. "How far away are we?"  
"Grab that map out of the glove box, and I'll tell you." Clint motioned at the compartment, and Natasha wrinkled her nose at him.  
"You're still using that ancient thing?" He shrugged as she laughed at him. "Haven't you ever heard of a Tom-Tom?"  
"What? I'm old-school!" Clint argued defensively. She stayed quiet until she un-furled the massive paper monstrosity, covering the dashboard in front of her as she laid it out flat in the light of the setting sun.  
"Did you seriously circle the safehouse location with a fucking red sharpie?!" Natasha shouted, indignant. "How have you survived in the intelligence field as long as you have?" He dug an elbow into her arm from the driver's seat.   
"'Cause I've got you to keep me in line, Red!" She stuck her tongue out at him. "Looks like we're about an hour out-" He cut himself off as he noticed a road sign indicating a rest stop about five miles ahead. "Finally!"  
***  
Clint sighed as he pushed the car door open, gingerly stretching his cramped, tired legs as he stepped out of the cab and yawned loudly once more. Natasha slid out of her side of the car and quickly unlatched the trunk. She pulled the cooler open and liberated the food she'd purchased earlier in the day, carefully swinging the trunk hatch shut again with a loud thud.   
As he opened the passenger side door to sit down, Clint suddenly felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. His pulse quickened slightly; he could count the names of people who knew the telephone number on one hand. His brow furrowed as he stopped to fish the phone out of his pocket, calling over to Natasha,  
"Hey, I'm gonna take a leak before we get back on the road."   
"Have a good time, I guess?" Natasha waived him away, unwrapping her sandwich and taking a bite. She watched, intrigued, as she saw him answer his phone on his way toward the restroom entrance.  
"Hello?" He answered casually, not knowing what to expect from the man on the other end of the line.  
"Hey, Clint." There was insecurity in the voice as it spoke, crackling over the tinny speaker, but warmth began to develop in the voice as well. "Do you have a minute?"  
"Of course, James," Clint smiled fondly to himself. "But I don't have a lot of time. We just crossed the state line, and Natasha's waiting out in the car for me. What can I do for you?" He could hear James shifting in his seat on the other end.  
"Clint, after everything that happened today, I don't blame you at all if you don't want anything to do with me ever again." There was shame in his voice, and it made Clint's chest burn. "I can't believe Steve flew off the handle like that. I mean... Jesus, what he did to your face-"  
"Wh-what?" Clint managed to mumble in response. "James, how could you think I would ever want to cut ties with you? After everything I said- you were there, you heard me! I want to do anything and everything I can to stay in contact. I've already missed so much, I can't bear to miss anymore." Clint was baffled that the idea would even cross the younger man's mind. "Did Steve somehow convince you that I'd stay away just because he got off a couple of cheap shots on me? This is nothing! You should've seen this one time, in Hungary..." There was a note of chauvenism in Clint's voice as he rambled, exaggerating every word because he so badly wanted James to laugh at him, or call him dumb; anything to break the tension hanging over the conversation.  
"I was more worried you would never want to talk to me again, after what happened yesterday..." Clint said honestly, when James hadn't made a peep at his Budapest story. He didn't want the doubts to hang over him anymore, needing to hear the words of reassurance from James's mouth.  
"What do you mean?" This time, it was James who sounded surprised. "Clint, I know I freaked out a little this morning, but that was just the isolation. I feel better when I'm not left alone to my own thoughts." There was an earnest tone to his voice as he added, "But I'm hoping Natasha can help me work on that a little bit. We talked about it in Sam's car while he was driving us to save your ass." Finally, James was cracking jokes. Clint couldn't help but smile genuinely. "What made you think I would want to break things off?"  
"Steve had me convinced that I had taken advantage of you because you were drunk." Clint admitted sheepishly, "My heart stopped when he told me about the relapse- and then I went and offered you another substance you didn't need... I'm- I'm so sorry, Bucky. I shouldn't have-" Shame burned on Clint's face as he leaned back against the restroom's dirty tile wall, the phone held carefully to his ear.  
"Clint, you didn't know- you couldn't have known. I'm a grown man. I take full responsibility for my actions; I'm going to pay Steve back for the motorcycle I wrecked, and I already paid back my bill at the diner this afternoon." He paused for a moment, thinking of a way to describe his thoughts aloud. "Look, I made decisions last night that I might not have been confident enough to make when completely sober," the words stung slightly as James said them, Clint's heart sinking to his stomach as James continued his thought, "But I don't regret it, Clint. I told you last night, I'd been holding onto those feelings for a very, very long time, and last night, I just happened to have the artificial ability to let go of my anxiety long enough to take a chance on something I'd been wanting to do since we were teenagers." Clint realized he hadn't breathed while James had been talking, sucking in a breath gratefully. "It really could be a terrible, unhealthy idea for us to do anything like that again, and I understand that, but I think it's a risk I'm willing to take. I want to see where this goes."  
"I do, too." Clint breathed, his expression returning. He heard a beep as his call-waiting service activated, and he pulled his phone away from his ear long enough to check the number. "Shit, looks like I'm taking too long. Natasha's on the other line, probably trying to tell me to hurry it up." James chuckled through the electronic speaker.  
"Alright, Hawkeye, I guess I can let you go now. Say 'hi' to Natasha for me, will you?"  
"Will do." Clint promised, happily. "Don't hesitate to text me if you need anyone to talk to. Natasha's going to be driving for the last leg of the trip so i can eat some dinner and rest my eyes a bit."  
"Good to know..." James answered, hanging up the phone with a click. Clint pressed the "ignore" setting on his phone, just to annoy Natasha as he decided he should actually use the facilities before returning to the car.  
***  
"Did you fall in?" Natasha asked as Clint climbed into the passenger seat and buckled himself in. "Who called?"  
"Ha ha." Clint said sarcastically. "Actually, that was Bucky. He says 'hi'." Natasha smiled and handed him a paper-wrapped sandwich, small bag of potato chips and a can of soda before starting the car.   
"See? He isn't mad at you." Natasha chided him lightly. Clint unwrapped the sandwich carefully, and just as he was about to take a huge bite, his phone vibrated again. Holding the sandwich in one hand, and his phone in the other, Clint finally got his first bite of sandwich. She had gotten him a turkey reuben... His favorite. Unlocking his phone absentmindedly, Clint swallowed his first bite of sandwich and took another, equally large bite. As his eyes flicked over the screen of his smartphone, he choked in surprise, coughing and pounding his chest loudly.  
"You alright there?" Natasha asked him with amusement. "Take a drink, try to breathe." Clint was still staring at his phone in amazement, unable to process exactly what he was seeing. James had sent him a text message; only after Clint had already downloaded the message did he notice that it was a photo James took of himself in the bathroom mirror, wearing absolutely nothing but the same thin pair of boxer briefs he'd worn the night before, pulled suggestively low on his bony hips. His half-hard cock just barely tented the front of the shorts; Clint could see just enough of the detail to make his heart pound in his chest. James had accompanied the photo with a line of text that read:  
::James, 7.56PM:: [Attachment.jpg]   
::James, 7.56PM:: didn't want you and Natasha to forget about me, since I already know what you two will be up to when you get there.  
"Clint? Is everything ok?" Natasha asked, slightly concerned as Clint seemed unable to drag his eyes away from the phone. He laughed and handed it to Natasha, grabbing for the wheel as she nearly swerved, her eyes locked on the phone just as Clint's had been. "Well, fuck," Natasha said, her voice starting to go husky. "That's certainly unexpected..." She shoved Clint's shoulder playfully as she added, "I told you he wanted it!"  
"Yeah, uh, I gathered that much." Clint the said, rubbing the back of his head as she handed the phone back to him. "What do I do now?"  
"Play along. If you want to?" She shrugged, trying to keep her eyes on the road as she couldn't help but think of James, sitting alone and taking dirty pictures of himself, just for them. "Do whatever you want." She smirked as she drove, adding, "It is your birthday, after all."  
"You really don't mind?" Clint asked, and Natasha smiled sweetly. "As long as I get to watch it happen, I'm good." That familiar wicked grin creeped into her smile as Clint pondered what to type in reply.   
***  
James sat on his bed in silence for a very long time after they arrived back to the small apartment. For hours, he played through the events that had transpired in the last 24 hours in his head, trying his damndest to forgive himself for the relapse, putting it out of his mind and moving into the hours afterward- his cowardice at the diner, and the unlikely, but happy reunion that followed. A small smile crossed James's face as the more graphic memories played behind his eyes momentarily; the sounds Clint made as James had touched him, made him cum into Natasha's mouth, and the wary it felt when Clint returned the favor. The joy faded from James's features as the shocking sight of Clint's bloody, beaten face replaced the look of sated happiness that had preceded it. James lay back, stretching out on the soft mattress, his fists balled against his forehead as he continued fixating, unable to put the image out of his mind. Trying to take a calm, steadying breath, James let his hands drop to his sides in frustration, rolling his head to check the time on the alarm clock that rested on his bedside table, when his smashed phone caught his attention. Picking up the device, James could feel his hand shaking slightly as he unlocked it and confirmed to himself that Clint's number was still stored in the 'recent calls'. He debated pressing the call button, his finger hovering just above the screen, before he talked himself out of it. 'It's too soon to call. He's probably still pretty mad, and I don't want to make it any worse...' James thought to himself, but he knew if he didn't call, he would sit there fidgeting for the rest of the night. It would be better to hear it from Clint once and for all, and be done with it, or so James had convinced himself as he finally let his thumb hit the glass.  
He knew Steve would probably be furious if he knew what James was doing; he'd made it abundantly clear that he wanted them to have nothing to do with Clint and Natasha, and had spent the better part of the evening sulking in the kitchen as Sam valiantly tried to talk him into a compromise of some kind or another. James was grateful for Sam's advocacy and friendship despite their relatively short time having known each other. It made James feel as if his opinions mattered again; it was something he hadn't felt in quite some time, and he started to feel a little lighter as he imagined the possibility of spending more time with Clint and Natasha. The phone rang once, twice, and after the third ring, james almost hung up, his heart sinking as he thought Clint was officially ignoring him. Just as he was about to end the call, James heard the line pick up, and he nearly dropped the phone he put it to his ear so fast.  
"Hello?" Clint answered, sounding slightly surprised to have been called out of the blue.  
"Hey, Clint." James had to pause for a moment and collect himself before asking, "Do you have a minute?"  
"Of course, James." Clint sounded warm, as usual, but James still felt uneasy. "But I don't have a lot of time. We just crossed the state line, and Natasha's waiting out in the car for me. What can I do for you?" James shifted uncomfortably in his seat before he finally decided to bite the bullet, and say what was on his mind.  
"Clint, after everything that happened today, I don't blame you at all if you don't want anything to do with me ever again." He couldn't supress the shame in his voice as the words spilled out of his mouth. "I can't believe Steve flew off the handle like that. I mean... Jesus, what he did o your face-"  
"Wh-what?" Clint mumbled back at him, taken aback. "James, how could you think I would ever want to cut ties with you? After everything I said- you were there, you heard me! I want to do anything and everything I can to stay in contact. I've already missed so much, I can't bear to miss anymore." James only realized he'd been holding his breath when Clint said it, and James sucked in a deep gulp of air. "Did Steve somehow convince you that I'd stay away just because he got off a couple of cheap shots on me? This is nothing! You should've seen this one time, in Hungary..." Clint continued speaking, but James wasn't able to make a sound. Relief flooded through him as he heard Clint rambling on, warmth finally replacing all the fear and doubt he'd felt before. He was caught off-guard when he realized Clint had stopped speaking for a moment, his voice suddenly serious when he talked again.  
"I was more worried you would never want to talk to me again, after what happened yesterday..." James knew Clint had been talking about the sex, but why he thought James wouldn't want to talk to him anymore because of it was a complete mystery.  
"What do you mean?" James asked curiously. "Clint, I know I freaked out a little this morning, but that was just the isolation. I feel better when I'm not left alone to my own thoughts." He paused a moment before adding, "But I'm hoping Natasha can help me work on that a little bit. We talked about it in Sam's car while he was driving us to save your ass." James understood now, that he needed to convince Clint, just as he'd needed the reassurance moments before. "What made you think I would want to break things off?"  
"Steve had me convinced that I had taken advantage of you because you were drunk." Clint sounded ashamed as he told James what Steve had said, "My heart stopped when he told me about the relapse- and then I went and offered you another substance you didn't need... I'm- I'm so sorry, Bucky. I shouldn't have-" James's chest seized when he heard the anguish in Clint's voice; the pity hurt him more than anything else, but he had to press past it, to make sure Clint knew the truth.   
"Clint, you didn't know- you couldn't have known." He closed his eyes as he spoke, trying his hardest to make the older man understand. "I'm a grown man. I take full responsibility for my actions; I'm going to pay Steve back for the motorcycle I wrecked, and I already paid back my bill at the diner this afternoon." He paused for a moment before continuing. "Look, I made decisions last night that I might not have been confident enough to make when completely sober," James knew Clint would probably fixate on the first half of the sentence, but he pressed on, trying to finish the thought coherently and confidently. "But I don't regret it, Clint. I told you last night, I'd been holding onto those feelings for a very, very long time, and last night, I just happened to have the artificial ability to let go of my anxiety long enough to take a chance on something I'd been wanting to do since we were teenagers." The honesty continued flowing out of him as James finished his thought aloud. "It really could be a terrible, unhealthy idea for us to do anything like that again, and I understand that, but I think it's a risk I'm willing to take. I want to see where this goes."  
"I do, too." Clint breathed into the mouthpiece before he said, "Shit, looks like I'm taking too long. Natasha's on the other line, probably trying to tell me to hurry it up." James chuckled back at him affectionately.  
"Alright, Hawkeye, I guess I can let you go now." His cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling after the honest conversation. "Say 'hi' to Natasha for me, will you?"  
"Will do." Clint promised, sounding just as relieved as James felt. "Don't hesitate to text me if you need anyone to talk to. Natasha's going to be driving for the last leg of the trip so i can eat some dinner and rest my eyes a bit." The idea of texting Clint gave James some devious ideas...  
"Good to know..." James answered, hanging up the phone with a click as he suddenly wondered whether or not Clint had ever sexted with Natasha (or anyone, else for that matter) before. The thought of Clint sitting in the dark passenger seat of the car, his hand sliding down to unfasten his jeans while he- James realized he was already half-hard, and he knew he needed this to happen, Steve's fears be damned. He stood up and started to take off his clothes one article at a time, awkwardly glancing at himself in the small mirror that was fixed to the back of his bedroom door and laughing to himself at the absurdity of it all. He angled the phone camera awkwardly, clicking the shutter, then checking the photos until he took one that looked good enough to share.  
::James, 7.56PM:: [Attachment.jpg]   
::James, 7.56PM:: didn't want you and Natasha to forget about me, since I already know what you two will be up to when you get there.  
James stared at his phone nervously as he sent the message, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious as he sat staring at the device. What if Clint didn't like to sext? His worrying was interrupted when his phone vibrated with Clint's reply.  
::Clint, 8.01PM:: jesus. i was eating when you sent that. give a guy a little warning first. i could have choked!  
James typed a message back quickly, sending it before he had time to second-guess himself. He knew how guilty Clint must have felt, after the horrible things Steve had implied; James had no desire to let Clint continue thinking he was anything but interested in him, and Natasha, James added happily.   
::James, 8.03PM:: subtlety isn't really my style.  
His heart pounded heavily in his chest as his hand drifted down to rest on the remaining article of clothing, gripping himself tightly through the thin fabric. He bit his lip as he snapped another photo quickly, his cock throbbing unintentionally at the thought as he typed out a caption and clicked the send button.  
::James, 8.05PM:: [Attachment.jpg] besides, i've got something else for you to choke on.  
He didn't have long to wait as his phone buzzed with Clint's reply. A smile cracked on James's face as he opened the message, reading it quietly to himself and flushing slightly as he ran his tongue over his lips and snaking a hand through the fly of his shorts.  
::Clint, 8.06PM:: fuck.   
::Clint, 8.06PM:: how are you this fucking sexy?  
He bit his lip as he read the next message, pulling his hand away from his cock achingly. Starting to type a reply, James sat for a moment in thought before he erased what he had begun to write. He wanted to hear Clint's reactions as he continued his ministrations instead of reading them through the spider-webbed glass. That thought burned in his stomach as he dialed the number with one hand, the other skimming its way back down his abdomen and past the small trail of hair at his navel to rub carefully at the elastic waistband of his boxer shorts. The phone rang for a few short seconds, before he could hear the sound of someone shifting around on the other line. He ventured a guess that he was probably on speaker phone, but had no objections at all.  
"James." There was something raspy in Clint's voice that made James shudder as he gripped himself a little tighter, his breath hitching slightly at the way Clint said his name.  
"I wanted to hear you instead of just reading..." James managed to stumble out quickly, before urgently grappling at the speaker on the phone, hissing, "Wait-" His heart pounded heavily as he suddenly heard the sound of a door opening in the hallway outside. He held his breath until he heard the toilet flush from a few rooms away, the sink running quietly, and then the sound of a door being closed before he could breathe easily again. "Sorry... Someone was in the hall. 'Think the coast is clear now." He started to stroke himself slowly, lightly as he heard the growl of approval in Clint's voice.  
"Heh, getting brave, aren't you, Barnes?" Clint's breath got a little heavier, and James had to lick his lips again. Clint chuckled roughly to himself as James heard shifting static once again. "You're going to get us all into trouble, if you're not careful." His voice was husky and low now, all gravel and heat.  
"Care to elaborate a little?" James ventured, leaning back on the bed and cupping the phone between his shoulder and ear. He bridged his back up, pulling his shorts hastily down past his thighs and over his legs quickly. "'Cause I just took off the last of my clothes. I'm laying on my bed right now, and I'm dying to know what you're up to..."   
Something in the way he hissed the last bit, quiet and concise, had Clint on the edge of his seat... He palmed himself carefully, trying his best to retain control. The crackle of the phone speaker added an intangible quality to the communication, but Clint loved it all the same. He'd already unbuttoned the fly of his pants, pulling his cock to peek just above the waistband of his jeans, thumbing the head roughly with a shiver. Natasha purred happily from the driver's seat, glancing quickly at Clint in the seat next to her before returning her gaze to the road. They weren't far now as they rounded the edge of a thick, wooded forest, but she was almost tempted to slow down a bit, to enjoy what was happening to her immediate right.  
"You'll have to forgive Clint. You've got him on the edge of his seat, James." Natasha said into the phone that sat on the console between them, teasingly laughing at Clint as she heard James gasp a little as he started to stroke himself to the thought, his breath hitching raggedly.   
"Fuck, do I wish I could be there in the car with you." James ground out through gritted teeth as he continued. "Ahhh" He moaned, quietly, turning and pressing his head into his shoulder in an attempt to keep quiet. He knew he'd be fucked if Sam or Steve found them out right now.  
"Me too," Clint murmured back to him, sounding as desperate in the rasp of the speaker as James felt. "You sound so fucking sexy when you moan like that." The growl in his voice was almost feral, making James shiver. "Fuck, I wish I was there to make you moan like that." Natasha licked her lips as she heard James whimper into the phone; she loved it when Clint got like that, when his brain shut off and let his mouth take over. "I want to hear you cum for me, Bucky. Right through the speaker on this phone."   
"Oh shit!" James struggled, arching his back quickly. "Fuck-" He gasped, rutting erratically into his hand as Clint chanted his filthy thoughts into the speaker. "Clint-"  
"Tell me, James." Clint ordered, trying his best to ignore just how close he was to losing control as he stroked himself quickly and carefully in the dark passenger seat. "I want to hear it."  
"I can't-" James tried to whisper it, but it came out more like a desperate whimper. "'Gotta- stay- quiet-"  
"Come on, Buck-" Clint encouraged, his voice starting to waver, "I'm getting close, too." James could feel his body tighten as he stroked himself faster and faster, his hips meeting his fist halfway as he bit his lip to keep from shouting.  
"Clint-" He breathed, "I- Ahhh-" He couldn't finish the thought before spilling artlessly onto his hand and stomach, whimpering into the phone as he heard Clint breathing heavily on the other side.  
"Ah, fuck-" Clint groaned, twisting his fist just slightly as he heard Bucky moan through the phone. "Fuck!" Clint yelled, cum dribbling down his hand as he grabbed for a tissue, a shirt, or a napkin- anything to clean himself up with. He was still breathing heavily as he heard James panting on the other end as well. "So, how was that?" Clint laughed, hoping James would still be in the mood to talk to him afterward. There was a momentary pause that had Clint's heart racing before James finally replied,  
"It wasn't exactly what I expected, but, shit..." He trailed off for a moment, still trying to catch his breath. "I think it turned out better." Clint couldn't see it, but he could pretty clearly hear the smile on the younger man's face, and that alone made him beam like a doofus. "Still hangin' in there with us, Nat?" James added playfully, as Clint finally looked up at the road ahead of them.  
"Yeah, I'm still being a responsible adult, and all that. For the time being, at least." Natasha laughed lightly, "But you boys made it damned difficult, that's for sure. We aren't very far away now, and I think I'm going to need to exact my revenge once we finally get settled in." Clint could hear the playful tone to her voice, but he knew she was dead serious... He was in for an interesting birthday, he knew that much.  
"I'm only disappointed I can't be there with you." James sighed, speaking honestly.  
"We know, dear." Natasha reassured him, "But there will be other times."  
"We promise." Clint added, humming happily as Natasha reached behind his head to rub his neck gently with her fingertips.   
"I'm gonna have to hold you to that." James said hopefully. "Good night, Clint. Good night, Natasha."  
***


	5. "Oh, Keep Quiet, Let Us Sing Like the Doves"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Sam delve further into Steve's reasons for distrusting Clint, while Clint and Natasha finally relieve a little physical (and emotional) tension of their own.
> 
> More plot, then some smut.

Steve slumped angrily into the passenger seat of Sam's car, dropping his head into his hands. Realization of all that had been said finally struck him like a freight train; Bucky hadn't spoken a word to them as Sam drove all three of them back to the apartment. At first, Sam had tried to fill the awkward quiet, rambling nervously until he realized it was a pointless endeavor. He let it lie and turned on the radio, humming along with the tune instead of trying to fill the somber, empty silence in the car. When they finally made their way back to the apartment building, Sam parked in the driveway and opened his door quickly. Steve and James followed suit, sliding out of their doors and closing them carefully. James cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his head as his eyes fell on the wreckage that was Steve's motorcycle that was now leaning against the side of the building in a disheveld heap. Steve made eye contact with him briefly‌, his eyes dropping to the ground in shame. Simultaneously, they both started to speak over one another, breaking the silence that had settled between them at last.

"Steve, I just want you to know how sorry I am about-" James began, but Steve stopped him, putting a brotherly hand on his shoulder.

"Buck- just forget about it. It's not important to me." James's cheeks burned in embarassment, but Steve ignored it. He sighed heavily and shook his head in disbelief.

"All this time, I honestly thought I was doing what was best for you... Even though I knew you were completely miserable, I-" he trailed off, shrugging his shoulders in shame. "I just wrote it off as part of the PTSD, or the depression. I had a hard time seeing you as your own person anymore... but after today..." Steve pulled James into a tight hug, tears pooling in his eyes as he very sincerely apologized to the other man. "Buck, I'm so sorry. I was wrong." James smiled sheepishly at Steve; it was the first genuine display of happiness Steve had seen out of the other man in far too long. Sam couldn't help but smile at the reparations being made between the two as they stood at the bottom of the stairs to the apartment as James stepped out of the hug, holding Steve at arm's length by his shoulders.

"I'm going to buy you a new bike." He promised, as Steve nodded back at him appreciatively.

"You really don't have to, Buck." Steve started, but James looked embarassed again. "Consider it an 'asshole tax' for the last two years or so." Steve looked relieved as James started to brighten up again, a smile cracking on his face. Wondering just how much responsibility he was taking for his actions, James decided to ask the question that had been digging at him since Steve had uttered the words "I'll think about it."

"So, do you think, maybe, I would be able to go see Cli-" He only made it halfway through the name before Steve visibly stiffened, as though even the hairs on his neck stood on end. Sam's eyebrows raised as he watched them with interest.

"Look," Steve started, suddenly unable to retain eye contact with James as he had moments before. "I'm really, really trying to work with you, here, Buck. But I stand by what I said earlier. I don't like him," he almost seemed repulsed when he referred to Clint, "And I don't think it's a good idea for you to spend any more time with either of them." He brushed past Bucky and clinmbed the staircase, fishing his keys out of his pocket as Sam exchanged a sympathetic glance with James. "I mean, if you want to change your treatment schedule or something, I'm open to talking about it." His eyebrows furrowed in frustration as he continued, "But if you're really still more focused on..." He trailed off, waiving his hand dismissively. "Whatever all of that was?" He finally said, "I'm going to need a lot more time, and a lot more convincing to forget about some of the shit he's put us through in the past." Bucky rolled his eyes when Steve said 'us'. "I've said it once, and I'll say it again, Buck. I'll never understand why you keep going back for more."

"The shit he's put 'us' through?!" James exploded, throwing his arms over his head in anger. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Steve stood on the staircase, one hand gripping the railing with white knuckles, and the other balling his keys into his fist, his jaw set tightly. "For the last fucking time, he was coming back to get me! It was just as much my fault as his that I got brought in for questioning. I've accepted responsibility for my actions, Steve! Clint is not a fucking scapegoat, whipping boy-"

With that having been said, Steve stomped up the staircase, unlocked the apartment door and swung it open with force. After he had closed the door behind him, James rammed a fist into the brick wall beside him, swearing under his breath as his knuckles scraped against the rough stone.

"God! Damn! Stubborn! Ass!" James vented under his breath, as he climbed the stairs and pulled the door open for himself, bee-lining straight for his bedroom in frustration. Steve sighed, massaging his temples with his fingertips tersely while Sam continued to observe them both quietly. When he finally decided to speak, he sympathetically put a hand on Steve's shoulder.

"If I'm out of line, I won't press it," He started, "But, Steve, what specifically did that Barton guy do to piss you off so much?" Steve looked back at Sam unblinkingly, his hands dropping back to his sides and balling into fists subconsciously. His knuckles burned as newly forming scabs cracked with the movement, but Steve didn't react to it. "I know he and Bucky have a messy history together, but..." Sam shrugged, "I guess I'm intrigued. I've just never seen you this worked up before." Steve eyed the other man wearily; he seemed hesitant, but eventually conceded. When he started talking, his voice was low and quiet.

"Clint Barton has been a bad influence on Bucky since the day they met." Sam shrugged as Steve continued, "You probably already know this, but when we were kids, I wasn't exactly the person you see before you now. I was scrawny, and I got beat up a lot. My dad was never around, and my mom died when Buck and I were pretty young. From that moment onward, his family took me in as their own. I did my best to keep my nose clean, to contribute whatever I could to let them all know how thankful I was to have a family to take care of me." Steve sighed heavily as he continued, "But Bucky... He seemed to take them for granted; strayed a little bit from the straight-and-narrow path on a pretty regular basis. He's always had something of a rebellious streak, and when he actually got punished for doing something stupid..." Steve laughed wryly, "That's when things went from bad to worse." Sam nodded, picking up where the Captain was going with his speech.

"They met each other in juvy, right?" Sam still seemed interested, but Steve wanted nothing more than to drop the subject and never speak of it again.

"Right." Steve sighed disapprovingly, shaking his head. "The year Bucky met Clint... he was never the same person again. His grades started slipping, he started skipping school more often, drinking illegally, smoking weed and smoking cigarettes..." Sam nodded knowingly, encouraging Steve to continue. The soldier looked pained, his expression somber and serious as he hit the apex of the story.

"At the end of the summer when Buck and I were just turning 18, and Clint was 20, he convinced Bucky to sneak out and get drunk with him at 3 o'clock in the morning." Sam raised his eyebrows. "Earlier in the day, Clint had gotten into some kind of trouble. Bucky never really told me what happened, but the Cops told us he'd knocked a guy out and stole money out of a cash register at a gas station or something." Steve shrugged it off, "Long story short, Clint was planning on skipping town that night, and he wanted to ask Buck to go with him. But the later it got, the drunker they got, and when James turned him down, he ended up passed out after finishing the bottle of tequila, laying in the woods on the outskirts of town."

"And Clint?" Sam asked cautiously, watching Steve as he asked the question, and trying to gauge his reaction.

"Clint was arrested when he was sighted just standing on the bridge, not far away; the Cops assumed he was trying to hitch a ride out of town when they caught him. He'd just left Bucky out by the tracks with all the stolen cash in his drunken rush to get away. Bucky ended up walking home the next morning, so hungover he could hardly stand up straight. He hid the cash from his parents, but eventually surrendered it to the Cops when they picked him up in front of his parents, and brought him in for questioning." Sam looked back at him sympathetically. "Bucky's parents went ballistic. I thought they were going to ship him off to military school." Steve sounded dismayed, immediately descending into anger as he burst out, "And even after all that, Clint still tried to keep in contact with him! He wrote letters constantly- all the time. If Bucky's parents, or I found them, we'd burn them, throw them away, anything to try to separate them for good, but eventually..." Steve trailed off for a moment. "He found out Clint was trying to talk to him, and he went to visit."

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"Clint lied to his face; told him he was arrested while going to pick up cigarettes. That he hadn't wanted to wake Bucky up because he was planning on being right back."

"And did Bucky believe the lie?" Steve's anger flared up once again as Sam asked it.

"No matter what I tell him, Bucky still sides with Clint." Steve said bitterly.

"But what if Clint really was telling the truth? I mean, his side of the story isn't so far-fetched-" Sam tried, but Steve seemed to brush it off entirely.

"Clint is lying. I'm sure of it. But all this time, Bucky just thinks I'm making it up because I'm jealous or something! Before they ever met each other, Bucky wasn't perfect, but at least he could tell the good guys from the bad ones! Now, after everything that's happened-" Steve was growing manic, but Sam stopped him calmly, carefully, trying to talk his friend down some.

"Regardless of what's happened, Cap, it's already happened. It's up to us to figure out how we grow from our pasts and what we choose to learn from them." Sam said soothingly. "James is an adult, and he wants you to respect his choices as an adult. While I know it's not what you want to hear, you told Clint and Natasha that you would at least think about letting Bucky see them. You should stick to your word... just, sleep on it. Who knows? Maybe it's a chance for everyone to put the past behind them. You at least owe him that chance." Sam stood, stretching before he made his way down the hall to the bathroom door. "Look, I gotta pee, but then I'm gonna head back to my place to get some sleep for the night." Pausing for a moment, Sam's face seemed to flush suddenly. "Uh, it'd probably be a good idea to just let him have some alone time for now... You two can talk more in the morning." Sam offered, before closing the door behind him. Steve leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms and worrying his lip in thought. He knew the depth of Clint's treachery, how he had lied to Bucky about where he was going when he was arrested that morning, but he had no substantive proof. What Steve hadn't told Sam, or even Bucky, was that Steve had actually visited Clint in prison, just once, during the time he'd first started to write the letters. During that visit, Clint had calmly agreed to answer any of Steve's questions to the best of his ability, on the condition that Steve would bring Bucky with him to visit a week later; in the end, there were still answers Clint refused to give, no matter how Steve pressed, and Steve never fulfilled his end of the deal. Clint simply stayed silent when Steve asked where he was headed that morning, insistant that he knew Clint had lied to Bucky about it. Clint cast his eyes toward the ground without comment when Steve asked him why he'd left the money, accusing him of trying to frame Bucky as an accomplice, or worse, frame him for the crime instead. It burned Steve's insides as he'd remembered it, but before he could do anything else, Sam opened the bathroom door and closed it behind him again. "Good night, Steve. You can call me if you need anything. I'm serious." Sam patted Steve on the shoulder before walking toward the front door, opening it to leave and then closing it again quietly behind him. Steve's jaw set stubbornly. After a moment, he walked to the doorway, opening it with just enough time to catch Sam as he was climbing back into his car.

"Good night, Sam." Steve sighed, "Thanks... for, uh, today..." He finished awkwardly.

"No problem, Steve. Good night." Sam smiled, shaking his head as he sat down and closed the car door. Steve closed the front door and crossed his arms, frowning to himself once more as he heard Sam's car buzz away.

***

"Hang on, hang on-" Clint grappled at the wall distractedly, searching without success for the access panel that allowed him to shut off the security alarm which threatened to go off any second. Natasha wasn't helping the situation, kissing at his shoulders, up his neck, and teasing behind his ear with her tongue as he finally found the panel and punched in the passcode with determination. The alarm chirped, signalling it was disarmed, and Clint sighed, pushing Natasha's shoulder playfully. "You, are absolutely no help."

"And I, do not care." Natasha smiled, imitating him as she pulled him into a searing kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders and twining her fingers in the short hair on the back of his head. As they kissed, she accidentally brushed his nose with hers, and he pulled away from the kiss, wincing in pain. The dim light of the garage cast shadows around the dark bruise to exaggerated proportions as she carefully kissed him on the cheek. "Sorry, Ptista. I will try to be more careful." He fumbled with keys, struggling to unlock the door in the dim light, but finally unlatching the rusty bolt with a loud click. He swung the door open and grabbed their luggage off the floor next to them, setting them to rest on the kitchen floor before Natasha guided him into the sparsely furnished living room, and pushing him back to rest on the threadbare sofa. She straddled his lap, kissing him slowly and carefully, avoiding his still tender nose, but he seemed to be challenging her, slipping his tongue to deepen the kiss and making her hungry for more.

"Mmm, 'Tasha." Clint hummed her name happily as she kissed him, trailing her soft lips down his cheek and neck, stopping to run her teeth lightly over his collar bone, sucking a small red hickey into the skin just below his shirt collar. He could already feel himself recovering from the car ride quickly, as she rolled her hips, making just enough contact with him to make him strain against her. Running his hands up her hips, Clint carefully lifted her shirt off and over her head, her black lacy bra hanging off one shoulder, slightly exposing her right breast. He unlatched the bra and pulled it off of her arms in one quick movement, dragging his tongue across one nipple, rolling the other between his fingers carefully. Natasha moaned at the contact, instantly aroused as Clint continued to wind her up. He couldn't get enough of the sounds she was making, a smile quirking on his cheeks.

"Clint-" Natasha gasped as he continued, his tongue tracing circles around the soft, sensitive flesh, using just the right amount of suction. He knew all the best ways to get things started, Natasha couldn't refute that claim, though she'd never hear the end of it if she dared admit it. His rough hands slid around to her back and shoulders, running slowly down her spine as she wrutted against his lap impatiently in an attempt to speed up the process.

"God, I like the way you say my name, Red." His voice was rough and deep as he cast his eyes up and down her body hungrily, catching her by surprise as he suddenly scooped his hands under her thighs and lifted her off of the couch without blinking an eye. She giggled in surprise, but the sound was cut off rather immediately as he kissed her, carrying her further through the sprawling cabin that overlooked a deep wooded valley; the view was exquisite through the massive glass windows that lined one wall of the master bedroom, but Clint could care less as he pinned the incredible redhead against the master bedroom door, his hands still gripping her thighs tight as she reached down and opened the door for him. She kissed him searingly, wrapping both her arms around his neck as he pushed the door open with one foot and then started to move with her again. Distracted by the sinful way Natasha was sucking on his tongue, Clint tripped as his legs hit the edge of the bed and he landed on top of her with all his weight. In the chaos of the fall, Clint's face ended up colliding with Natasha's shoulder so hard his vision blurred momentarily. Pressing his forehead into the bed next to her, Clint groaned loudly in frustration as tears sprang into his eyes involuntarily. Natasha flailed her arms and legs underneath him as he lay with his full weight still setting on top of her, her voice muffled slightly by his left shoulder.

"So, I'm not trying to be insensitive, but could you get off of me? You're very heavy." He rolled onto his back, finally freeing her and pressing his fintertips to his brow, trying to help his vision to clear as she sat up next to him. She pet his hair sympathetically for a moment before she stood, letting her jeans drop to the floor silently.

"I'm going to take a shower," She offered, extending a hand to him as he tilted his head up to see her, but remained lying on the bed. "Would you like to join me? It might help."

"Are there painkillers in the bathroom?" He sounded absolutely miserable, but finally accepted her outstretched hand and allowed her to lift him to his feet slowly.

"I'm not sure what SHIELD regularly stocks. Let's go see." He followed her into the master bathroom, a roomy, luxurious white-tiled room with a high ceiling and the most expensive-looking shower Clint had ever laid eyes on. With a smile quirking one side of his lips, Clint slapped Natasha's ass playfully as her black lace panties leaning tantalizingly close to him when she leaned to open the glass panel shower door and started to turn on the water. She closed the door once again, allowing the shower to heat up, and steam to start to fill the room, and turned back to Clint, who was rifling through the medicine cabinet on the wall next to the door. He unceremoniously ripped the lid off a bottle of extra strength aspirin and dumped a few of them into his mouth, swallowing the pills dry and wrinkling his face in displeasure. Natasha cleared her throat from behind him.

"You are wearing far too much clothing." She told him as she slowly hooked her index fingers under her panties and pulled them down on her hips another inch. Clint turned back to face her, his eyes trained on hers as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor behind him. "Better," She teased, running her warm, wet hand down to trace the contours of his abdomen with one talented index finger, before allowing it to slip a little further down to play with the button on his jeans. "May I?" She asked, almost reverently. Clint smiled as he just looked at her for a moment, standing in front of him so casually and naturally, as if she belonged nowhere else in the world. He lived for the times he got to see her like this, so very unlike all the masks she had to wear on a regular basis; just uniquely her, confident and comfortable in her own skin.

"Please." Clint sighed, leaning back onto the counter as she unbuttoned his jeans and crouched to ease them down his legs carefully. The room had already begun to grow sticky with steam from the hot water as Natasha sat on her knees in front of him, massaging some of the tension from his cramped, sore calf muscles as she lifted his feet, removing his pantlegs one at a time. "You're too good to me, you know that?" He said, sincerely, his eyes serious as he extended his hand to help her stand up. "I really don't deserve it." She peeled off her panties and stepped into the shower, Clint following suit behind her; the water was so hot it made his skin tingle as he stepped into the spray, but he knew Natasha liked it that way, so he didn't protest. He knew he would put up with anything for even a chance to be with her, and the thought sat heavy in his chest.

"What?" She asked, quirking her head questioningly as Clint stood, just looked at her, his brow still furrowed deep in thought.

"Natasha," He breathed her name, "Are you really ok with Bucky being a part of our relationship?" He sounded vulnerable as he voiced his doubts. "I feel like I never really gave you an option out that night, Nat. I'm sorry, if you felt-" He stopped talking for a moment before sighing. "When I saw him, it was like seeing a ghost. I couldn't look away for fear of losing him all over again, and I didn't think about how you might have felt about it. It's no excuse for how I acted," Natasha rolled her eyes at him as she lathered her body with a bubbly, spice scented soap. "You're the best thing about my life, 'Tasha, and I don't want anything to endanger that." Quirking an eyebrow at him, Natasha let the spray wash away the remaining soap from her body as he talked.

"Are you finished now, Ptista?" Clint was taken aback by her response. "Clint, if I was uncomfortable for any reason, you would have known, because I would have left. I'm not some delicate damsel who sticks around in situations where she's uncomfortable... You should know this by now, dummy! Besides, I said it before, it isn't the first time we've experimented sexually with another person." Clint started to grow defensive as she stepped closer, starting to rub soap over his chest and collar bones casually.

"But this time, it's completely different!" He grew frustrated as she continued to wash him, "'Tasha, this is Bucky we're talking about- he's not just another warm body to me!" He didn't realize he'd shouted at her until she stopped washing him and locked her eyes with his.

"Clint," He immediately felt guilty at the way she said his name, "Have your feelings for me changed at all, since James returned to your life?" He had to honestly think about the question for a moment as she added, "You can be honest with me, Clint," before he shook his head with certainty.

"No, of course not." She quirked up one side of her mouth with a smile, stepping back into him to finish washing his body. "I'm just as crazy about you as I've always been, but I still have undeniable feelings for James, as well." She shrugged, allowing him to rinse his body clean in the hot water.

"As long as we still feel the same way about each other, I don't see a reason for anything to change. You two obviously feel strongly about each other, and as long as James is willing to give it a shot, I'm willing to try to make this work." Again, Clint was floored by how calmly she was reacting to it all as she shrugged back at him. "Polyamory is honestly no more taboo than any of the other things we've tried before."

Clint looked at Natasha reverently as she stood before him, steam curling around her shoulders as hot water continued to stream out of the shower head above her. He kissed her as he stepped forward, pressing his muscular arms against the cold tile wall above her head, pinning her possessively against the wall. He slid his tongue into her mouth, teasingly at first, until she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and bit his lower lip, hard. She was making it clear that her patience had all but run out as his hands immediately slid down her body, one hand cupping the back of her head as he continued to kiss her with passion; his other hand had settled low on her hip, pulling her against him even tigher, and making her moan at the contact. Reaching down beside her, Clint switched off the shower, standing in the steam as he tried to ask Natasha what she wanted to do.

"So, should we go back into the-" He completely lost his train of thought as she turned to face the tile wall instead, curving her ass up at him tantalizingly. "So that's a vote for 'here', then?" When he didn't receive an answer, Clint crowded himself up against her warm, wet body. She gasped as he teased her with the head of his cock, she pushed both her hands against the tile walls as he positioned himself at her entrance and slid himself in slowly. She couldn't suppress the sigh that escaped as she felt him fill her, starting to push back against him lightly.

"Ah, Clint!" She wined at the loss as he pulled back almost completely before rocking back into her at a punishing pace. Without stopping, Clint leaned down, kissing her shoulders and flitting his tongue around the shell of her ear, relishing in the multitude of sounds she was making just for him. It hit him far too quickly, just how close he already was to cumming. Immediately, his hand searched for her already sensitive clit, his deft fingers circling it quickly as his hips continued to drive into her center.

Natasha pressed herself back against him just as furiously, her thighs quivering as he started to groan into her hair.

"I'm getting too close, Nat-" She angled her hips slightly higher, causing his cock to bottom out slightly sooner, hitting her g-spot with force.

"Woah!" She almost pulled off of him, but Clint held her hips in place and repeated the motion. "Oh God, Clint-" She started to cry, but was unable to finish speaking as he drilled into the same spot once more. "Ah!" She moaned as she felt herself spasm, her pussy clenching around him tightly. He came as he felt her squeeze around him, his hips stuttering to a slow stop.

"Fuck," Clint sighed, being careful not to move for a moment as they both panted, laughter following quickly as endorphins rushed through them. "I think I'm going to need to sleep for a week." He finally slid out of her gently, causing her whole body to tremble involuntarily. "But first, I need some dinner. I'm starving." He kissed her cheek as she stood up carefully, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as he did it. She smiled back at him satedly, looking forward to the delicious meal he would undoubtedly cook for her.

***

 


	6. "You're the Only Angel I Never Gave Away"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Steve finally come to an agreement of sorts, as Clint delves further into his past for the first time in a number of years.

James woke up screaming, his metal arm tensed, as phantom pain shot from his shoulder to the wrist that no longer existed. He gritted his teeth, grasping at the metal with his other hand, even though he knew it would do nothing to alleviate the pain. Panting, he felt the jolt pierce his bicep, making him grit his teeth in an attempt not to shout again.

"Buck, are you alright?" Steve knocked on the locked door from the hallway, his voice filled with concern. James sighed, still tense as the surge of pain slowly began to subside, and he finally dared to try to sit up in bed.

"Yeah..." James said, "You know, just-" He trailed off quietly. "Yeah, I'm alright, Steve."

"Ok." Steve said, "Well, if you feel like you could eat, I made some breakfast." James stood up slowly, picking up a pair of pajama pants off of the floor and pulling them on; he inspected his appearance in the mirror on the back of the door briefly before unlatching the lock on his door.

As he cracked the door open, Steve still standing in the hallway, he mumbled,

"I'm not feeling great right now... I'm gonna take a shower, then see how I feel. Thanks, though." His voice was still deep and gravelly with sleep as Steve looked back at him with slight disappointment.

"Sure, ok." Steve walked back to the kitchen, sitting down at the table and serving himself a plate full of the bacon and eggs he had cooked that morning. James watched Steve walk away, crossing the hallway and entering the modest bathroom they shared, and closing the bathroom door behind him. Sighing, James started the shower, scratching at his abdomen while he waited for the water to warm. When he finally decided the water was hot enough, James dropped his pants and underwear to the floor and stepped into the shower slowly.

As he washed himself, James chewed his lip in thought. His stomach growled as the scent of bacon curled under the bathroom door, making him groan as he felt his stomach flip in hunger. After everything that had happened in the last few days, James wanted nothing more than a little independence; or even just a change in scenery to quell his feeling of trapped frustration.

Stepping out of the shower, James wrapped a clean, dry towel around his waist; his quiet thoughts were interrupted by another soft knock at the door.

"There's a basket of clean clothes on your bed." Steve said through the closed door. "When you're done, you and I seriously need to talk." James's heart sank. He couldn't help but wonder if Steve had been snooping in his room under the guise of delivering laundry for him.

"About what?" James tried to sound even and calm despite the feeling of his heart hammering through his chest.

"You know what it's about." Steve's tone was cold, no-nonsense, as he stood in the hallway with a stony expression set on his face. "About him." James swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as he crouched to pick up his discarded pajama pants and finally pulled the door open, meeting Steve's unblinking gaze.

"Can I at least put on some clothes?" James glanced down at the towel wrapped around his waist as Steve shrugged back at him stubbornly.

"Do whatever it is you need to, just don't stall for time." Brushing past him, James was careful to avoid Steve's stern gaze as he closed his bedroom door behind him once more. "I'll be waiting in the kitchen, when you're ready to talk to me." There was frustration in his voice, but as James scanned frantically through his room, he really couldn't see anything that would have set Steve off so immediately.

"Alright, alright! I'll be out in a minute. Then we can chat about anything that's on your mind, Stevie!" James fell back into the nickname familiarly, tapping into some of the old charisma he used to swagger around with in an attempt to diffuse some of the tension while he dressed himself haphazardly. He heaved a sigh as he finally heard Steve walk down the hall and away from his doorway.

For just a fraction of a second, James contemplated just leaving; walking out the front door, or climbing out his window without another word to Steve, but underneath it all, he knew just how stupid of an idea it was, as his sanctuary lay somewhere across state lines (and he honestly wasn't even sure which state they were in). He sighed once more in defeat as he pulled a red flannel shirt over his bare chest and hastily buttoned it before fastening his jeans and taking a deep breath to steady some of the anxiety in his chest. Taking two fingers from his flesh and blood hand, James tapped against his breastbone, diffusing some of the tension that had settled there, a technique Natasha had showed him on their walk to the fast food restaurant that he'd been eager to try. He was surprised by how well it worked; for a moment or two, the tight feeling in his chest had really shrank back.

Finally, James walked into the kitchen, his stomach doing a loud and uncomfortable flip as the scent of the bacon Steve had cooked hit his senses full-force. He had to take a moment to collect himself, Steve wincing at his visceral reaction.

"So, no breakfast?" He looked apologetic as he went to clear the dishes from the table, but James stopped him carefully.

"I've got to eat something. My stomach is pretty much completely empty at this point." He swallowed, fighting the volatile roiling that just the thought of food was producing in him at the moment as he added, "Maybe just some plain toast and black coffee..." Steve continued to put away the rest of the food he had set out: eggs, bacon, pancakes and colorful fresh fruit he'd picked up from their local outdoor market while James was still asleep. James felt bad seeing the meal go to waste, but he couldn't stomach the though of eating any of it. Settling into the chair in front of him, James stared down the cup of steaming hot coffee that remained sitting on the table in front of him with disinterest.

Steve slid a plate of golden toasted thick-cut sourdough bread slices across the table, causing some of the coffee in James's mug to spill over onto his hand.

"Sorry!" Steve fumbled, trying to hand James a napkin, but by the time he had it in his hand, James had already licked the bitter liquid off his fingers and wrinkled his nose at the taste.

"Don't worry about it. Accidents happen." James shrugged as he accepted the napkin Steve still held in his outstretched hand. "Let's get this over with." His heart hammered in his chest when he said it, but he was so sick of worrying over it that he couldn't dodge the elephant in the room any longer. Steve stepped backwards long enough to pull out a chair and sit down in it, his jaw clenched tightly as he returned Bucky's challenging stare.

***

Clint woke up feeling as if he could have slept for another twelve hours. The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows had finally hit his face, warming him and waking him from his deep sleep at the same time. He grumbled, trying to scrub the back of his hand across his eyes, but was unable to lift his arm as he noticed Natasha was curled up against him, her face turned into his shoulder in an attempt to hide from the bright glare of sunlight.

"'Mmmm," He mumbled, kissing her lazily on the top of her head, "G'morning, Tasha."

"Good morning, Ptista." She said, her voice still muffled slightly by his shoulder. "Did you sleep well?" She sat up slowly, combing her fingers through her dark red hair as she basked in the mid-morning sunlight that flooded the room with a quiet, lazy warmth.

"Like a rock." He sighed, sitting up and swinging his legs off the edge of the bed with a groan. "You really tired me out last night, Red." He winked at her as he stood, pulling on his discarded jeans from the previous night and fishing a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket. "I'm stepping outside for a smoke. Care to join me?" Clint asked as he walked out of the master bedroom and into the kitchen, still barefoot and bare-chested in the comfortably heated cabin.

"I think I'll make some coffee." Natasha said following him into the kitchen, wearing only a camisole and panties, to Clint's delight. "Then maybe I'll change and join you."

"I knew I liked you for a reason!" He chuckled, pulling open a sliding glass door that lined one side of the kitchen, leading to a deck that wrapped around the back of the cabin that left plenty of room for guests to appreciate the phenomenal wooded landscape that surrounded them on all sides. Clint smiled, humming a song to himself as he pulled a chair toward the edge of the deck, careful to grab an ashtray off the railing next to him as well. The air was brisk, his bare skin pimpling in the breeze as he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The tobacco burned his lungs familiarly, only briefly interrupting his humming as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes carefully with his thumb, the cigarette dangling from two fingers.

He let the cigarette hang between his lips as he gingerly felt around his bruised eye with his fingertips, trying to gauge the time it would take to heal from the beating. In all honesty, Clint was no stranger to getting punched, and this black eye was no worse than any other he'd ever suffered; he ventured a guess that he would be back to normal by the end of their vacation, if not before. Leaning back in his seat, Clint closed his eyes, trying to focus on the sounds of the birds around him; if he tried hard enough, he could hear the wide spectrum of natural life in the forest, but it was always faint. Clint's hearing had been damaged on a mission a few years ago, and he knew it would never fully recover. He had accepted that fact and tried to move on as best he could, but it was times like these that really made him miss it; when he could think back to his youth and he could let the various birdcalls in the woods lull him to sleep. Natasha opened the sliding door, extending Clint's cell phone in his direction as she yelled to him,

"Clint! Your phone is ringing!" He sprung out of his chair quickly, transferring the cigarette to his opposite fist as he grabbed the phone from Natasha's outstretched hand. Recognizing James's number on the screen, Clint immediately answered the call, cradling the phone against his ear as he settled back into the chair and placed the cigarette casually between his lips once again.

"Mornin' sunshine," Clint drawled into the phone, speaking from the side of his mouth as smoke plumed from his lips in time with his words.

"Hey, Clint. Do you have a minute? I need to talk to you about something." James sounded strained through the speaker; Clint grew concerned as he could hear the younger man squirm on the other end.

"Yeah, sure, buddy." Clint tapped his cigarette against the edge of the ashtray compulsively before lifting it to his lips and drawing deeply once more. "I've got all the time in the world. Slow down, tell me what's on your mind." There was a moment of quiet before James spoke again.

"I, uh, spoke to Steve this morning, and... Well, he agreed to let me come and visit you and Natasha." Clint's heart skipped a beat when he heard James say it, but he was perplexed by the anxious way in which the younger man told him.

"Ah, congrats!" Clint tried to lighten up the mood before finally asking him, "C'mon, James, isn't that a good thing? Aren't you excited to come stay with us?"

"It's- it's complicated." James stammered. "There's, uh, there's more to it than that, Clint..." He trailed off momentarily. "Steve only agreed to let me go as long as he or Sam are allowed to stay the first night... Like sort of a chaperone or something to make sure you're being trustworthy. Says he's willing to try to make things work as long as you're willing to try too." Clint chewed absently at the filter of the nearly-spent cigarette that smoldered between his lips for a long time before he could think of a response. "Steve claimed to be trying to make things work, but..."

"But you aren't so sure?" Clint finally finished the thought for James as he stubbed out the frayed cigarette butt into the ashtray and pulled a second from the crumpled pack.

"Well, last night he did go on some huge tirade about "the shit you put us through" in the past." James sighed wearily, "It's the same shit, different day. It's just... Look, I've known Steve long enough to know he's not going to just up and forget about it." The pit of Clint's stomach dropped out. "I'm so tired of him trying to use your past against you! You and I know what happened that night, and that's all that should matter." Clint's heart was racing uncontrollably as he listened to the younger man speak. "I'd understand if you told him to fuck off. No questions asked." James offered.

"I uh... I'm gonna need-" Clint willed himself to speak, flicking the lighter between his fingertips with a snap, and pushing smoke out of his nostrils as he suddenly found himself completely unable to relax. "Give me some time to think about it. I'll let you know."

"Sure..." James sounded worried at the way Clint was acting. "Just give me a call back when you've decided what you want to do and I'll let him know, I guess."

"Yeah." Clint said, flicking the burning cherry at the ash tray in agitation. "I'll, uh, I'll call you in a little bit."

***

Natasha knew something was wrong when Clint didn't notice her behind him until she touched his shoulder gently. She had already set down their steaming cups of coffee on the railing next to her before turning back and addressing him, finally drawing his attention.

"Clint?" He had been sitting back in the deck chair, deep in thought as he chewed on the skin of his thumb as his cigarette smouldered between his knuckles. When he heard his name, his blue eyes snapped back into focus.

"Oh, hey, Nat." His voice was quiet as she sat on the arm of his chair, trading his phone for the hot cup of coffee she'd brought him from the kitchen. He accepted it gratefully, beginning to act more like himself as she ran her fingers through his short sandy-blonde hair and he sipped coffee from the purple and black mug she'd picked for him.

"So what did James call about?" Natasha asked, continuing to massage Clint's scalp with one hand as she asked him in an attempt to keep him calm and grounded. Clint still seemed to have some trouble answering, chewing on his lip for a moment before finally telling her,

"He said Steve agreed to let him come see us, but only on the condition that he and Sam be allowed to come along and act as 'chaperones', and observe for the first day or two. He said that he was willing to try to make things work as long as I was willing to try, too." He clenched and unclenched his jaw stubbornly as Natasha watched him carefully. "But Bucky was doubtful about his true motivations, and so am I. I can't help but think he's just doing this so he can gloat if and when everything inevitably falls apart. And I'm worried about what that could end up doing to Bucky, if the worst were to happen." Natasha leaned to kiss him on the temple. She was hoping he wouldn't dip into depression during their holiday, but when Clint wasn't feeling his brightest, Natasha knew it was her turn to carry him just as he did for her.

"And what happens when they do come along and they're blown away by how smoothly everything goes?" She tilted his chin up with her hand, kissing the taste of coffee and cigarettes from his lips between sentences as she continued to talk to him. "I want to see the sour look on that guy's face when he sees how happy Bucky gets when you're around."

Clint appreciated Natasha's efforts, sighing as she took a sip from her own black and red mug. She had changed into a matching sweatshirt and sweatpants, also black and red with spindly little embroidered spiders running up the arms and legs (a christmas gift from Clint the year before), and her hands felt warm against his chilled skin as she started to rub along the back of his neck affectionately. "Aren't you cold, sitting out here with nothing but pants on?"

"Eh, it's brisk, but not unbearable." He shrugged noncomitally before swinging Natasha out of his lap and over the side of the chair as he stood. "But I am going to go inside and change. I think I need some range time to clear my mind." Natasha nodded, knowing he would want to set up a small target in the valley just south of the cabin; it was something she could always count on him to do when he needed peace and quiet to think.

"Your bow is in its case in the hall." He turned back, settling a hand on her cheek as he leaned down to kiss her lightly. "I'm going to go for a run, and then maybe we can meet back for breakfast when you've finished."

"Thanks, Tasha." He gave her a small, forced smile.

"Happy birthday, Ptista." She smiled back at him, hoping he could find whatever answers he needed buried halfway into an old tree stump in the woods, just like she knew his practice arrows would soon be.

***

Clint breathed in slowly as he strung his bow, setting it carefully on the ground next to the quiver of practice arrows he'd packed into the trunk of his car. Scanning the surrounding forest quickly, Clint spotted a burled and knotted tree that would make a sufficient enough target. His mind had finally stopped reeling, his thoughts still continuing to follow the same vein as James's warning echoed in his ears. He knew Steve mistrusted him specifically because of the night he'd gone to jail, but there were things about that day that Clint didn't care to tell others about, particularly to someone who wrote him off so long ago, like Steve. Knocking an arrow, Clint breathed in carefully once more; slowly, in through his nose and out through his mouth as he let the first bolt thud heavily about four inches into the middle of the solid tree trunk. The twang of the bowstring vibrated in Clint's hands, but he payed it no mind, allowing himself to fall into a familiar rhythm as he notched another arrow and his mind continued to wander.

\--

Clint heard a knock at the door and his heart hammered in his chest. He had been sharing the tiny studio apartment with his older brother, Barney, for some time now, but Barney had been in jail for the last two months and they were about that far behind on the rent. Clint had been dodging the leasing manager successfully up until that point, but he feared his luck had finally run out as he peered out through the peephole into the grimey hallway with unease. Instead of the short, hairy apartment manager, Clint was surprised to see a tall, slim man with thinning grey hair and crows feet standing in front of the door, a briefcase clutched tightly in his hand. Not bothering to release the chain that held the apartment door shut, Clint cracked it open, just enough to see what the man was there about.

"What do you want?" Clint asked immediately, trying to sound intimidating, but the old man who stood before him only raised an eyebrow at the scruffy, malnourished looking boy that refused to fully open the door before he shrugged and began speaking.

"Am I correct in assuming you are young mister Clinton Francis Barton, and this was the residence rented by a mister Charles Bernard Barton?

"And what if it is?" Clint asked suspiciously, cocking an eyebrow at the stuffy old man.

"Mister Barton, I am contacting you on behalf of the San Leone family." The man paused for a moment, waiting for some sign of recognition from Clint, but received nothing but the same empty glare. "Son, are you aware of exactly who the San Leone family is?" The old man made to put his hand on Clint's shoulder, but Clint shrugged out of reach easily. "Why don't you let me inside and we can speak a little more comfortably-" Clint shook his head and crossed his arms, refusing to move.

"No. You can say whatever it is you need to say from out there." The old man looked tired, sighing as he resigned to talking to Clint from the hallway.

"Well, son, I was originally looking for your brother on behalf of my employer- he owes them some pretty serious money, you see, and when it came time for him to repay that debt, well, he went and got himself arrested instead." The old man's sugary demeanor dropped instantaneously as his face started to redden slightly around the ears. "You can see how that could prove to be rather... irksome... to my employers when they're owed thirty thousand dollars." Clint's jaw dropped.

"How the fuck does Barney owe of THAT kind of money?!" Clint was starting to grow pale as his mind raced. He hadn't talked to his brother in weeks, and Barney had never so much as mentioned borrowing any money from someone, let alone accruing that much debt in one go.

"Apparently he fancied himself as something of a card player." The old man huffed an impatient sigh. "Regardless of how the debt was incurred, the San Leones expect to be repaid, in full, and when your brother got himself arrested, whether it was on purpose or not, he forced the responsibility of that debt to fall onto your shoulders as his next of kin, Clinton." Clint's ears were ringing. He couldn't believe what he was hearing; it was as if he was outside his body, watching the scene from afar as his world came crashing down around his shoulders.

"I- I don't have that kind of money! I'm twenty years old, for God's sake!" Clint spat angrily, immediately turning to the emotion he knew best: anger.

"Well you're going to have to find it, Clinton. Bad things happen to those who do not fulfill the requests of the San Leones." The old man warned tiredly. "They've decided to generously give you a week to shore up the funds. If you can't manage it by then..." The old man sighed, casting his eyes to the ground sadly. "Well, I can always hear them begging to end it all quickly and it rarely ever happens."

\--

Clint reached for another arrow, but his hand swished through empty air instead. Finally moving his eyes to look, Clint realized he'd completely emptied the quiver into the trunk of the tree. He carefully set the bow to the ground and slung the empty quiver over his shoulder as he began a slow, deliberate walk toward the tree. By the time he'd finally reached the tree and begun pulling carefully at each bolt, Clint's hands had begun shaking slightly. The things he was remembering were things he had tried his damndest not to think about in years. One of the arrows had sunken particularly deep into the tree, its graphite shaft snapping as Clint tried to dislodge it by pulling too hard; he cursed loudly, throwing the piece of the broken bolt to the ground in frustration as he became frantic in his collecting.

\--

Clint took a deep breath to steady himself as he stood outside the convenience store, a heavy-duty slingshot strapped to his arm, a fistful of rocks tucked into his palm and his pocket. He knew there was absolutely no way he would be able to scrape together thirty thousand dollars in less than a week, but if he could get just enough money to skip town and try to start a new life somewhere else, Clint would choose that over the alternative. His hands shook and his chest panged at the thought of what stood before him. Robbing the convenience store wouldn't be all that different from what he'd seen and had to do in the past; he'd been there when Barney had robbed the first store, and was confident enough that he could pull it off without getting caught at the scene. It was the idea of leaving town forever that scared him more than the actual act of robbery. For the first time in his life, Clint had found a place he'd liked to live, and people worth living there for. Well, in actuality, only one person, but Clint had spent so much of his life moving and hiding and running... When he'd found a real, true friend in James, it was almost life-altering, and Clint felt like he would drown if he were forced to resume his previous life on the run, completely isolated once again. He already knew what Bucky's answer would be, but Clint felt as if he had to at least try to ask the younger boy to come with him... He'd never forgive himself if he didn't.

Finally, the last customer stepped out of the store, leaving the cashier as the sole inhabitant in the tiny aluminum and glass panelled building. Clint slipped his jacket sleeve over the handle of the slingshot, pulling a stone into place and drawing it back as he pushed open the door with his shoulder. The bell wrang quietly, but before the clerk could wave cheerfully and greet him, Clint had skimmed one of the stones across her temple; not hard enough to kill or maim, but her face hit the counter unceremoniously as she was knocked unconscious by the impact.

"Sorry." Clint sighed, slipping behind the register and prying it open as fast as he could before someone else had the chance to enter the store. About a half a second too late, Clint heard the high-frequency alarm start to sound, pocketing as much cash as he possibly could before vaulting over the counter and making his way through the back of the store. In another fraction of a minute, Clint had identified and disabled two security cameras using well-aimed pebbles, but he knew most of the damage was already done. There was definitely at least one frame that showed his face, and he would be identified within the hour. Time was not on his side now, and he knew he needed to be quick. At the last second, Clint grabbed a bottle of tequila out of the store-room next to the fire escape and shoved it into the waist of his jeans as he sprinted out of the fire escape. He ran as fast as he could without dropping anything, slipping into a nearby park as he saw police cars start to scream past him toward the convenience store he'd just escaped from. Clint knew he needed to get off the streets, as fast as humanly possible. He pulled out his mobile phone and dialed Bucky's number immediately as he cut through the park, listening to the ringing tone as he continued to weave through the trees into a more heavily wooded area.

"Come on, come on, pick up..." Clint chanted to himself as he waited, his heart pounding until he finally heard the familiar voice on the other end of the line.

"Heya Clint, what's up?"

"Hey Buck. You busy tonight?"

"Nah. I wanted to go to the movies, but Stevie wants us to do our homework tonight so we don't have to get it done tomorrow instead." Bucky sounded sarcastic as he said it, making Clint smile, even in the midst of all the chaos.

"Think you'd be up for sneaking out instead? I got a fifth of tequila with our names on it. Thinking we could get drunk in the woods and watch the stars tonight." Bucky was quiet for a moment while he considered it.

"Yeah, why not?" Clint was relieved. "I'll slip out the window as soon as everyone falls asleep." He grinned when he heard Bucky confirm it.

"Sounds great. See you then."

\--

By noon, Clint had emptied and re-filled the quiver so many times he'd lost count. He seethed with hatred, trying his damndest to move past the feelings that were re-surfacing, knowing that all these things had happened to someone he didn't recognize anymore. SHIELD had gotten him out of that life, and Clint was grateful for the opportunities he'd been given because of it. He knew how hard he'd worked to move on, supressing the negativity as best he could as he finally felt the full strain of the shooting he'd put himself through in the last two hours.

"Clint!" Natasha made her presence known from a fair distance away as she ran down the trail toward him, pulling her headphones from her ears as she broke the quiet that had settled on the forest floor. "How was the range?"

"Meh." Clint shrugged. "Just monotonous enough to get some thinking done." Natasha crossed her arms as she looked at him with affection.

"Any groundbreaking revelations I should know about?"

"Not particularly." Clint shrugged again. "But I'm curious. What do you think about all this?" He waved his bow as he spoke, the quiver swaying on his shoulder with the motion. "Am I just being a stubborn ass about it? Do you think it's a good idea to let them come here?"

"I've already told you what I think, Ptista." Natasha kissed him on the cheek soothingly, and placed a hand on his sweat-soaked chest. "I think he is going to be disappointed with just how well we get along. But it doesn't matter what I think, Clint. What matters is what you think." She tapped her fingers against his collar bone for emphasis. "Would you be able to handle that man being in your personal space for a day or two?" Clint shivered involuntarily.

"I want to say that I could, but I don't know that I'd be telling the truth. It's just... complicated." Clint had a difficult time articulating his reservations. "It's hard to imagine giving someone a second chance who's never even thought about doing the same for you." Natasha chuckled lightly to herself before tapping him on the chest with her fingers once again.

"You do realize that's exactly what you did for me, so long ago?" His face flushed as he stumbled over himself, trying to dissuade her.

"That's-" He started, "That's completely different, and you know it!"

"Why? Because I was legitimately trying to kill you when you chose to give me a second chance?" Her voice was teasing as she pointed it out to him. "Or was it just because you wanted to sleep with me?"

"'Tasha-" Clint said warningly, but Natasha laughed musically again, showing him she meant no harm by what she said.

"Do you think you could at least give it a chance, for James's sake?" Natasha asked, steering him back on point.

"Why are you pushing this so hard?" Clint asked after a moment in thought, raising one eyebrow at her as he spoke.

"Because... I kind of already told James it was ok." Natasha admitted guiltily as she handed Clint her phone, showing him the recent call list. "He called me, worried about the way you sounded when you hung up and we ended up talking for most of my run... And, Clint, he wants this so badly." She pleaded when she told him, and Clint's chest panged with guilt and frustration at his own stubbornness. "We need to take the next step to try to at least try and make things work, Steve be damned." He knew she wasn't wrong, but he had a very difficult time admitting it. "I also told James to tell Steve that if he ever touches a hair on your head again, I'm going to personally make sure his face looks twice as bad as yours did by the time I'm through with him." That, at least, made Clint feel marginally better; he knew she was completely serious.

"So, when are they coming?" Clint asked, finally giving in and accepting the thought that it was happening.

"They'll be here around dusk, so we've got some time to prepare however you'd like." Natasha kissed him again sweetly.

"Let's make some breakfast, and then we can decide from there." Clint said, removing the string from his bow and packing it carefully into its case.

"Breakfast? It's already noon!" Natasha unscrewed the cap from a bottle of water she'd been carrying and offered it to Clint who accepted it and drank gratefully before replying,

"Brunch, then, whatever. I don't care as long as it's filling." They walked together back to the cabin in amicable silence, Clint's arm slung over Natasha's shoulder affectionately in the clear, sunny breeze.

***

 


	7. "My Heart Is Colder When You've Gone"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Sam and James arrive and tensions climb. What happens when Steve and Clint are forced to share close quarters?
> 
> Sorry about the lack of updates. I had some serious writers block with this chapter. Let me know what you think in the comments, please!
> 
> trigger warning for mentions of suicide near the end of the chapter.

Clint sighed when he heard Natasha start the shower from the other room. He was chopping vegetables in the kitchen, eggs frying on the stovetop alongside crackling bacon as Clint cooked a lazy, delicious breakfast hash. He rolled his neck from side to side as he finished peeling a potato and sliced it into a pot of boiling water expertly. Clint hummed a song to himself as he continued tinkering with his ingredients, frying ground turkey with garlic and onion before combining it with the fried egg and potatoes and leaving it to simmer on the stove while he started to draw the sink full of water to wash some of the dishes he'd used. He couldn't help but smile when he saw Natasha leave the bathroom, walking stark naked past the open door and casting him a glance over her shoulder that could melt steel.

"It smells fantastic out there!" Natasha called, dressing herself in a ripped pair of blue jeans and one of Clint's old, worn band t-shirts. When she stepped into the hallway, Clint wolf whistled long and low.

"God, you're beautiful." He mused at her as he grabbed a shallow bowl, spooned out some of the breakfast hash and handed it to her carefully. "Watch out, the bowl is hot." He added as she accepted the bowl and carried it to the solid oak table that nestled against one wall of the spacious white tile and stainless steel covered kitchen. Natasha started to take small, cautious bites of the steaming breakfast, savoring the smell of the meat, egg and vegetables mingling together as it combined in a heavy, savory flavor on her tongue. "Well?" Clint asked, quirking an eyebrow at her as he watched her eat contemplatively.

"It is not bad, Ptista." She nodded approvingly and took another bite. "But I think it could use salt." He winked and handed her a salt shaker playfully before serving himself a bowl of the hash from the still steaming skillet.

"You should try it with ketchup." Clint offered, adding a generous dollop of the sauce to his own bowl and stirring it together roughly. "Me and Barney survived on different variations of this recipe for years. Can't ask for much more than meat and veggies in a meal, you know? It's nice 'cause you can use just about anything in it, and we had to really stretch our groceries back then..." He mumbled when he talked about it, Clint's memories flashing back to visions of he and Barney living cooped up in that dirty studio apartment- Clint cooking breakfast for Barney who would wake up hung over every morning, relying on Clint to get him up in time for work each day. The memories burned in Clint's chest like fire, but his thoughts were immediately interrupted by Natasha quickly sneaking a fork into his bowl. Natasha nibbled hesitantly at the red tinged lump of meat and potatoes, wrinkling her nose at the overly sweet and sour tomato and vinegar taste that completely covered any natural flavor in the dish.

"I will never understand the American obsession with ketchup. Why hide the flavor of the vegetables you just bothered to prepare with this vile combination of flavors? Plain is just fine with me." She punctuated her sentence by eating another bite from her bowl enthusiastically, and following it with a sip of coffee she'd poured into her mug before sitting down. Clint shrugged at her as he took another bite of food and chewed it carefully.

"Have it your way." He stuck his tongue out at her playfully as he scooped another massive bite off his plate. "More for me." They sat in amicable silence for a moment, each eating their breakfast and enjoying the comfort of each other's company. It was Clint who finally broke the silence again, his voice sounding small and serious when he spoke.

"What have I gotten us into, 'Tash?"

***

Clint's heart thudded ceaselessly in his chest as he heard heavy knocking on the solid front door of the cabin. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly as Natasha placed a steadying hand on his back.

"Are you ready, Ptista?" She asked him calmly, earning a nod in response as Clint found his mouth suddenly, impossibly dry. He swallowed hard as he finally swung the heavy door open, greeted by Bucky standing uncomfortably on the wooden landing as Steve stood behind him with his arms crossed stubbornly next to Sam who looked as if he didn't really know why he'd been brought along. As soon as Clint and James made eye contact, a sigh of relief passed between them, and Clint motioned them in as he held the door open with his heel.

"Hey." Clint greeted when James got close enough to be swept into a quick hug, Steve clearing his throat loudly as they realized they were blocking the door from the rest of the group. "Uh... Come on in.." Clint said, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly after releasing his hold on James's shoulders.

A look of concern flashed on Bucky's face, but Clint tried his best to look reassuring. Natasha greeted them from behind the door as Bucky, Sam and Steve walked slowly over the threshold; she smiled carefully as she hugged Bucky, even drawing Sam into a quick embrace as she asked him how the drive was. When Steve stepped past, Natasha showed no change in her demeanor except for one quick icy glance that Steve almost thought he imagined as her gaze softened toward him.

"Where can we put our bags?" Sam asked carefully, shrugging a strap back onto his shoulder as it slid further down his arm.

"Follow me." Clint led them through the living room and down a hidden stairwell into a modestly furnished basement, a neatly made bed pulled out of the plush sofa. Dropping his bags on the ground, Sam scanned his eyes throughout the room, taking in all the details of the tastefully decorated space.

"So where's the other guest bedroom?" Steve asked, adding, "And where will Bucky be staying for all of this?"

The look on Steve's face resembled what Clint imagined it would look like if he'd held a carton of spoiled milk under Steve's nose and told him to take a deep whiff.

"Uh-" Clint started, rubbing his palm along the back of his head awkwardly. "Well there's only one fold-out couch, so you and Sam will have to double up. And as for James..." He trailed off for a moment, preparing for Steve to just up and leave when the words tumbled out of his mouth. "I honestly figured he would sleep in our room." He finished the thought quietly, his eyes catching Bucky's questioningly as Steve's face remained set in that horrible grimace. He seemed perplexed by Clint's assumption; Clint gathered James had never mentioned Natasha's role in the relationship, or that Steve had been blissfully ignoring the signs all along- either way, Steve seemed to short circuit when Clint used the word "our". James's eyes had gone wide, his brows disappearing under his bangs.

"So your partner?" Steve began, seemingly having trouble finding his voice at first.

"Natasha." Clint supplied evenly.

"She's... a part of all this, too?" Steve looked at Bucky, disapproval clear on his face when he asked it.

"Entirely by choice, I assure you, Captain." Natasha said icily from close behind them, having slipped down the stairs after the rest of the group. As if to prover her point, Natasha stepped closer to Bucky, twining her fingers between his cold metal ones and giving his arm a reassuring squeeze with her other hand.

"It's true, Steve." James said firmly. "You never seemed to want to know, so I never brought it up. But I'll be the first to admit, I have strong feelings for both of them." Clint put a fond hand on James's other shoulder, a small smile creeping onto his face when he heard the younger man's confession. "And your opinion about it isn't really going to change anything about how I feel." Steve crossed his arms obtusely, but didn't speak again for a long moment.

"I don't like it. This wasn't a part of the deal-" He said, his tone taking on an element of poutiness befitting a child who hadn't gotten their way.

"With all due respect, Steve," James cut him off, his voice growing low and feral in a way Clint hadn't heard before. It was spine-chilling. "I don't give a damn about whether or not you 'like' it. The fact of the matter is, you shoe-horned your way into this whole trip, and Clint and Natasha have been patient and kind enough to deal with your fucking demands up until this point. I really don't think you're in any position to dictate what happens from here on out." Steve looked back at him incredulously, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as Sam raised his hands awkwardly in surrender.

"H-hey, I'm fine with either doubling up or taking the floor, for the record." Sam said, dropping his hands as Steve exchanged a tense glance with him, Steve's arms crossed angrily over his chest as he visibly sulked.

The air was tense when Steve suddenly stomped up the stairs, past the rest of the group and back into the kitchen. James watched Steve with unease, thankful that he hadn't resorted to blows this time, but frustrated with how childishly stubborn the Captain was being. He knew Steve's mistrust of Clint ran deep, but there was so much more to him than meets the eye, and James needed Steve to finally recognize that. As the rest of the group walked up the stairs, no one knew what to expect; Clint led the way, followed by James and Natasha with Sam following behind.

By the time Clint reached the kitchen, Steve had wrenched the sliding glass door from the deck open and was facing out into the woods, leaning his weight heavily on his palms against the railing.

"Let me go talk to him." Sam said, motioning for Bucky, Clint and Natasha to hang back inside while he approached Steve with his calm, playful demeanor.

"Well, that escalated pretty immediately." Sam sighed resignedly, trying to at least get Steve to look at him. Steve huffed angrily before saying,

"I can't do this." His teeth gritted tightly together as he chewed on the words. "It's like I'm watching the past happen all over again, and there's not a damn thing I can do to stop it."

"Steve, I told you you could ask my help with anything, and I meant it. But you had to know... This is a two-way-street. I didn't agree to come with as an automatic vote on your side. I came because you asked me to, and because I want to do what I can to help Bucky. And in case you haven't noticed, acting like an angry child when you don't get your way not only devalues any decisions he might have wanted to test with this experiment, but makes me so much less interested in getting to know you." After another long moment of silence, Steve finally spoke, turning to face Sam with a small, embarassed smile on his face.

"Did you just say you wanted to get to know me?" Steve asked, distracted momentarily as his cheeks started to flush scarlet. Sam bobbed his head back at Steve before smiling and telling him honestly,

"Well, yeah. But like I said, not when you act like a spoiled five-year-old when things don't go your way. Why else would I have agreed to come with you across state lines to stay in a complete stranger's basement, when I very clearly wasn't invited in the first place." Sam sighed, shaking his head as Steve continued to gawk back at him as he fully absorbed what he'd just been told.

***

Clint's heart pounded as he watched Sam approach Steve slowly from behind the glass door. It was difficult to make out any exact details, as the sun had long since set, and the lights from inside the kitchen were bright.

"Damn it." James said, turning on his heel to face Clint and Natasha, a look of slight panic coloring his features. "I knew this was a bad idea. How could I have thought this would have worked?"

"Hey!" Clint put his hands on the younger man's shoulders carefully, holding him still as their eyes locked. "Just breathe, Buck. There's gonna be some inevitable tension; it's the whole reason we agreed to do this... To try to work some of that shit out." Natasha put her head against James's shoulder, kissing it gently before telling him,

"We wouldn't have let him come if we didn't think we could handle it." Clint's stomach tightened nervously as she said it, even though he knew she was just placating Bucky to calm him down. The three of them stood in silence for a moment before Bucy's stomach growled loudly, making Clint laugh at the unexpected sound.

"I think dinner sounds lovely," Clint winked at him, finally letting go of Bucky's shoulders and leading him into the pristine kitchen. "Now what would you like me to make for dinner?"

***

Very carefully, Clint closed the glass door behind him with his elbow, three bottles of dark, locally-brewed beer cradled between both hands. Sam and Steve turned to face Clint as he stepped toward them cautiously.

"Hey-" Clint started awkwardly, attempting to pass a beer to either man, but Steve's incredulous stare stopped him momentarily before Clint rolled his eyes.

"Do you really think it's wise, drinking beer right in front of a recently relapsed alcoholic?" Steve asked coldly, narrowing his eyes at Clint with distaste.

"Keep your pants on, Cap." Clint said, setting the beers down on the railing beside him. "Bucky and Natasha are drinking non-alcoholic beer while they prep for dinner. I asked Bucky if this was okay before you guys even left the house." Clint explained as he popped the lid off his beer with a lighter expertly. "And then I asked him again, just before I got these out of the locked refrigerator." He added before taking of sip of the dark, bitter liquid. Sam shrugged, picking up a beer and holding it toward Clint who was suddenly grinning like an idiot.

"You can open it for me... I don't have any cool party tricks like that." Sam smiled, but Steve still looked somewhat betrayed as Clint opened the beer and handed it to Sam.

"Relax a little," Clint tried, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes and shaking one into his outstretched hand. "Wasn't part of the deal that you would try to respect more of Bucky's decisions, whether you agreed with them or not?" He set his beer down long enough to flick the lighter, grey-white smoke slipping from his lips as he lifted his beer for another quick mouthful. Steve sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose as he conceded, and reached for the beer, popping the lid off against the edge of the railing in one quick motion.

A collective momentary sigh of relief seemed to pass between them as they sat on the deck, listening to the sounds of the forest in the cool night air. Clint stood, stubbing out his cigarette as he cleared his throat.

"I'm going to go help Natasha and Bucky make dinner." Steve still looked slightly sour, but he seemed to have relaxed some as he lifted the cold bottle of beer to his lips.

"What're you making for us?" Sam asked with interest.

"Bucky has requested steak and roasted redskin potatoes." Clint said, shaking his head happily. "So I hope you two are fans of red meat." He winked as he turned and walked back to the door, sliding it open and closing it behind him just as quickly. Sam and Steve exchanged a glance before they each took an awkward sip of beer.

"Is it really just me?" Steve asked, his voice sounded angry and frustrated and genuinely confused, all at the same time. Sam couldn't help but feel bad for the blonde; he gently patted Steve on the shoulder, trying his best to be sympathetic without downplaying the importance of the situation they found themselves in.

"I know you're having a difficult time trying to adapt, Steve." Sam said, hopeful that he could convince Steve that he was making the right decision in trying to work things out. "But we're doing some real good for Bucky, being here." Steve snorted indignantly as he took another sip of beer.

"You mean how he pretty much told me to fuck off? Oh yeah, that's some real great progress, right there." Sam shook his head as he set down his half-empty beer bottle.

"At least you didn't break anybody's face this time." Sam said, adding "And if you can pull your head out of your ass for a couple of seconds, you should take a look at how they act around each other." Steve still seemed unconvinced. "Everybody's doing what we can here, Steve." Steve sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

"I'm trying here, man, I really am. It's just-" Steve started, but Sam crooked an eyebrow at him challengingly. "I'm going to need some convincing. That's all."

***

In the kitchen, Natasha and James were peeling potatoes and chopping onions respectively as Clint slid the door open, a breeze flowing through the room from the outside. James's head turned quickly at the sound, a look of doubt and questioning on his face as Clint slid the door shut behind him.

"Well?" James asked, unable to take his eyes off of Clint until he knew what was going on outside.

"Well, he seems to have at least calmed down some." Clint said, a smile perking up one side of his mouth, but James still looked tense as Clint sauntered up next to him and put a reassuring hand on James's shoulder. "Is everything ready for the grill?" Natasha scraped her pile of chopped mushrooms and onions into a packet of foil with garlic, oil and salt, crimping the edges together as she slid it onto a platter next to the raw steak. She carefully handed the dish to Clint, who walked to the other end of the kitchen where a small indoor hibachi grill had been installed into the island. He whistled a tune happily as he started to cook their dinner, glancing over his shoulder frequently to see what James and Natasha were up to as the smell of grilling meat and meat and vegetables filled the kitchen air thickly. James had begun pacing, wringing his hands absently as Natasha spoke to him in slow, hushed tones. His tight stature seemed to loosen just a little bit as she spoke to him, which relieved Clint immensely. He couldn't help the pin-prick burn of anger in his stomach as he glanced quickly at the glass door, even though he knew it was far too dark to see much of anything outside the brightly-lit kitchen. Steve might act like an entitled asshole in the comfort of his own home, but Clint knew he'd fuck everything up long before he allowed himself to be treated like a doormat. He just prayed it wouldn't reach that level...

***

By the time Clint had finished cooking and serving the hearty dinner, the sun had long-since set, and the cool dew had already settled across the trees that surrounded them. Clint's drink sat at the head of the table, James to his left and Natasha to his right, Sam sat next to Natasha, and Steve sat next to Bucky around the beautiful, smooth polished wood table that furnished the dining room. Ornate patterns lined the molding around the high-ceiling, a chic iron chandelier dipped into the center of the room, illuminating each person's features with a slight glow and exaggerated shadow. When Clint brought the steaks to the table, Sam had whistled at the smell and he almost stopped in his tracks when he realized James was actually smiling at him. It was brilliant, almost blinding, and Clint couldn't help but stare with a goofy grin pasted on his face as he soaked in all the warmth that filled that moment. He carefully set the platter in the center of the table, Natasha handing him a set of tongs, but he set them down immediately.

"Before we start eating tonight, I want to thank you all for being here." He lifted his newly-opened beer and lifted it into a toast. "Here's to you, kid. Makin' this old man's birthday all the better." He winked, motioning the bottle in Bucky's direction before taking a deep swig of it.

"To Bucky." Steve said, trying as hard as he could to be excited. His chest had burned a little when he glanced to the side and saw his friend smiling brighter than Steve had seen in years... This Bucky was different. A pang of recognition hit Steve hard when he realized it: this Bucky is the real Bucky. Pre-abuduction Bucky. The punk who ditched school, snuck out at night and partied until he self-destructed. Half of Steve was elated to see his friend, as if nothing had ever happened to him; his stomach roiled at the same time as he knew exactly where this train was headed. Steve would be damned if he was going to let Bucky self-destruct this time. Not again...

Clint served Bucky first, then Natasha, then Sam, and then Steve. By the time Clint had picked up Steve's plate, he couldn't help but feel some seriously unpleasant vibes coming from Steve's direction. Though he showed no signs of it on the outside, Clint's pulse quickened at the thought of Steve stirring up trouble now that James had started full-on smiling and acting like his old self.

"How do you like your steak, Cap?" Clint asked, careful to keep his voice as calm and unthreatening as possible.

"Rare." Steve said, his teeth gritted. Clint chose a steak and put it on Steve's plate, setting it down in front of him slowly. Steve's eyes were trained on him, boring holes in Clint's back. Clint walked back to his seat at the head of the table, just praying that they could make it through dinner without an altercation of some kind. He sighed, it almost reminded him of his childhood, really. He scolded himself mentally and pushed away those memories for another day.

"Wow, Clint. You know how to cook a mean steak." Sam said from across the table. He cut himself another bite and bit into it enthusiastically.

"I told you, Clint is a great cook." Natasha praised, her cheeks dimpled with a smile as she put a warm hand on Clint's arm.

"I had lots of help." Clint added, "James and Nat did all the prep work. I just manned the grill, that's all." He joked, trying his best to seem lighthearted. All the while, Clint kept his eyes on Steve, not trusting him enough to look away.

"It was good." James conceded as he lifted a glass of water and sipped from it. "You always told me you could cook, but we never got a chance before. I'm glad you lived up to the hype." He smiled, a sly grin that slid onto his face, almost like he didn't mean for it to happen but he let it happen anyway. Clint couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled and laughed so much. He knew he looked like a dope when he couldn't stop grinning, but it was worth it to coax out more of the confidence that was starting to eke from James, a swagger that hadn't existed in him in years.

"Just 'good'?" Clint asked, trying to look sad, but failing as Bucky grinned back at him. "I guess I can live with that." Clint ate heartily, happy that he'd been able to pull off such a meal successfully.

Steve was the first of the group to stand, scooting his chair out behind him with a screech.

"Where would you like dishes?" He asked, his eyes still cold as he met Clint's stare challengingly.

"Kitchen's fine." Clint answered, pushing his own chair out as he picked up his own, now empty, plate. "I'll show ya' where." Steve followed Clint into the kitchen, leaving the rest of the party behind them as they crossed through the hallway and into the open kitchen. After depositing their dishes in the sink, out of earshot of the others, Clint stepped in Steve's way, blocking his passage. "Okay. What is WITH you?" Steve looked back at him, his face stony and unimpressed. "Whatever your stupid fucking hangup is with me, it's not going to just magically disappear overnight. I get that. But did you see how happy Bucky was at dinner? I haven't seen him smiling like that since we were in our fucking teens!" Clint gestured wildly with his hands when he said it, but Steve just stared back at him coldly.

"Yeah... You know," Steve's voice was calm, collected and volatile at the same time. "I've been seeing a lot of the past popping up again lately." He paused, balling his fists and baring his teeth at Clint. "But I'll be damned if I'm going to let the past repeat itself. You might have succeeded in getting him here, but mark my words, Barton. You'll fuck it up. Just like you always do. I'm just here to make sure that when you do, that you don't take Bucky down with you like your fucking brother did to you." There was acid in his words, but Clint could only hear the ringing of tinnitis in his ears as a fuse finally blew in his head.

"Oh, go fuck yourself!" Clint shouted, no longer caring whether or not the others could hear him from the other room. Natasha and James were in the doorway behind them in a fraction of a second, with Sam on their heels."You know what? I'll admit it. Fuck, Steve, you're right. I've made a lot of mistakes in the past. I've had to make a lot of decisions I'm not proud of in life. But how dare you fucking preach at me about things you don't know anything about."

"What's going on in here, guys?" Sam asked warningly. The tension between them was palpable, Natasha and James not daring to move any closer. Steve looked back at Clint, as if Sam hadn't said anything and continued their stand-off.

"See, but what you don't seem to grasp, Barton, is that I actually do know a little something about your past. I did a little digging while you were locked up. Managed to air out a lot of you and your brother's old dirty laundry..." Clint and Steve were standing six feet apart, circling each other like animals as they snarled. "Does the name 'San Leone' mean anything to you?" Clint's heart pounded heavily in his chest as he finally lunged at Steve, grabbing him by the front of his shirt with both fists and slamming him against the cupboard behind them. "Guess I figured out why you needed that money after all, huh?" Steve continued, trying to provoke Clint into hitting him. Natasha crossed the room in two quick strides, James just one step behind her.

"Clint-" Natasha said warningly, her hand settling on her partner's shoulder. Clint loosened his fists from Steve's shirt, but refused to back off, his features sharp with anger.

"Back off, Steve." James's voice was low and urgent as he pushed the two of them further apart, "Clint, you don't have to do this. You don't owe anybody an explanation here. Least of all, him."

"You know what, Bucky, I kind of think I do." Clint sighed, his voice starting to strain. "I haven't been entirely truthful with- well, anyone, about that day..." Clint trailed off momentarily before he seemed to remember where he was again. "It's taken a long time and a lot of therapy to get here, but I can own up to it. Steve's been right, all these years, I didn't tell you the truth about where I was going when I got picked up," Clint locked his eyes on Steve's smug look of satisfaction at the confession. "But it wasn't because I wanted to hurt you, Buck. Completely the opposite, in fact. It was because I was too ashamed to tell you the truth."

"Seriously, Clint, it's ancient history! You don't have to dig it up if you don't want to. I don't care about it." James offered, pleading in his eyes, but Clint seemed hellbent on continuing.

"Steve, do you want to know the truth? The real reason I left the money with James, instead of taking it and fucking off like I'm good at?" Steve's look of satisfaction had disappeared, all eyes casting angry glares at him as Clint continued his semi-manic episode.

"Get on with it, then." Steve challenged as Sam stood beside him looking more and more uncomfortable.

"When I asked Bucky to skip town with me that night, I told him it was because I felt like I couldn't live in that town anymore. I told him that I needed to get away from it all and start a new life, but I never really told him why." Steve stood obtusely, his arms crossed and tense as he listened to Clint's bitter, angry voice. "But, as Steve already seems to know, the real reason I needed to leave in a hurry was that my brother's loan shark caught up to me while Barney-" Clint choked on the name, Natasha putting her hand back on Clint's shoulder comfortingly. "While my brother was locked up. I was already just barely able to scrape by feeding myself five nights a week when they told me I had about a week to get them thirty k or I was going to die a very painful death in the very immediate future." Natasha didn't know what to do. She was one of the few people Clint had told this story to before, and she wasn't sure how James or Steve would react to the last part of Clint's story. "So, when I asked him to leave, and Bucky made it very clear that he cared for me, but couldn't just append his life like that, I understood. I accepted it, trying to enjoy our last hours together instead, and leave town in the morning. So, we got drunk. And, the drunker we got, the more I started to realize, Bucky was the only good part of my life, and I couldn't blame him for not wanting to come with me. At some point during the early hours, after James had fallen asleep leaning against my chest, I realized that it wasn't such a bad way to go out, all things considered." The frankness with which the testimony came out surprised Clint. After so many hours spent worrying and fixating on how he would have done things differently, the thoughts no longer plagued him. An eery calm had overtaken him as the rest of the group absorbed what he had just said.

"Clint?" Bucky's eyes were wide, fear and sadness starting to peak on his face. "What are you saying?" It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room as Clint looked back at him.

"I never told you the truth before because... well, I knew you would have tried to stop me." Clint sighed heavily again. "And I never told you after, because I was ashamed of myself. But I knew I was leaving the money behind when I told you I was going to pick up cigarettes. I knew exactly what I was doing when I got up because I couldn't lie there asking myself 'what if?' any longer. When the police found me standing on the bridge, I was about to climb over the railing. Psyching myself up to jump. I was planning on killing myself that morning."

"Oh, Clint, no..." The sadness in James's voice broke Clint's heart. He knew telling him was going to be painful, but it felt almost theraputic letting the confession break free of his chest nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, James." Clint said, trying to catch the younger man's line of vision, but Bucky's features had gone pin-straight and ghost white. "Buck?" Clint tried again, but before he could reach for him, the dark haired man had turned and bolted from the room. The sound of a glass door sliding indicated that James had gone to the patio for some fresh air. Clint shot a dirty look over his shoulder at Steve as he made to follow James outside, but when he stepped into the night air, Clint's stomach dropped. There was no sign of Bucky on the patio.

***

 

 


	8. "Because Enough's Enough, We're Done"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group divides into unlikely pairs to search for Bucky after he runs away.
> 
> Most likely this will be the second to last chapter in this particular fic... but who knows, we'll see.

"Fuck!" Clint cursed as Natasha, Sam and Steve stepped out onto the patio behind him. The combination of the pounding of his heart in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears and the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach made Clint feel ill as Sam, Steve and Natasha whirled into immediate action.  
"We need to split into two teams." Steve started, immediately assuming command. "One to comb the perimeter of the woods and one to sweep the valley below."  
"What makes you think you're calling the shots here?" Clint asked, snapping back to attention.  
"Barton, now is not the time-" Steve started, but was cut off when Clint started shouting back at him.  
"You don't get to give the fucking orders! If it wasn't for you-" Steve interrupted Clint, matching his volume and vigor.  
"If it wasn't for me?! This is all your fault, Barton! If you hadn't-"  
"Boys!" Natasha yelled, effectively silencing both men. "Why don't we stop arguing like children and find James?"  
"She's right. Every second is vital here." Sam agreed quickly. "Two teams will work best. How are we set for communication between both teams?" All three of them pulled out their cellular phones, but the distance from the towers made signals completely unreliable. Natasha chewed her lip thoughtfully for a moment before speaking again.  
"I've got an answer for you, but you aren't going to like it."  
***  
James sped down through the forest rapidly, his long strides working to his advantage as he weaved between trees, paying no attention to where he was going. His chest physically hurt and his mind raced, as pictures floated behind his eyelids. James struggled, wrestling to grasp onto any solid memories he still had about that night; it seemed like a lifetime ago now. The flashes that remained in James's clouded memory were only snapshots of what had happened; James sneaking out his window into the passenger seat of Clint's beater, grimacing as he swigged tequila straight from the bottle, Clint proudly showing James the small blanket he'd set up for them at sunset, and then the pictures got even blurrier. James could remember Clint taking both James's hands in his, the first truly intimate move he'd ever made toward James. The suddenness of it had caught him off-guard as Clint started to grow very serious; he couldn't remember any actual details of the conversation, but he could remember the look in Clint's eyes. Like he already knew the answer to his question but he was desperate to ask it anyway. The way his expression dropped, and he couldn't look back at James for a moment as he mumbled something along the lines of 'Nah, I understand.' The only other thing James could think of floated at the edge of his consciousness; he could never tell whether it was something that had really happened, or that he had fabricated in his pining years later. The last thing James could remember from that night wasn't a sight, but a feeling: the gentle sensation of soft skin brushing against his temple, followed by a mumbled apology. Beyond that, he had nothing.  
"Fuck." James ground out, suddenly sickened with himself. He didn't know what he was angrier about: the fact that he hadn't picked up on any of Clint's strange behavior that night, or the fact that he'd run like a coward when confronted with the harsh reality of a loved one having attempted suicide, regardless of how much time had passed. He felt powerless and small as he sank backwards, landing seated on a stump a few feet behind him. He rested his elbows on his knees, cradling his head between his hands as he closed his eyes and started to breathe in through his nose slowly, trying to remember some of the techniques he'd been practicing with Natasha. Breathing in through his nostrils, James counted slowly up from one to five, then pushed the air out with his nose and did the same. After almost a full minute of deep breathing, James finally dared to open his eyes again. The forest had stopped whirling around him, but his heart sank further when he realized he didn't have any idea what direction he'd just come from, or how far away he had run from the safehouse.  
***  
"Hold on." Natasha put her hand out to signal behind her, stopping in her tracks as she heard a chirrup through the micro-sized radio she had tucked into the curve of her ear.  
"Comms check. We've just reached the perimeter and are starting our sweep around. No signs of movement on our end. Can you hear me ok, Nat?" Clint's voice sounded tinny and tense through the microphone.  
"Yeah, Clint. We're about a quarter-mile from the center of the valley, but nothing yet for us, either."  
"I was afraid of that." Clint buzzed in her ear. "We'll try to check in every quarter mile or so. He can't have gone too far."  
"Will do." Natasha let go of the button she held between her thumb and pointer finger. She knew Clint was reassuring himself more than anyone else, but she didn't like it.  
"Any news?" Sam asked from behind her, still standing in place from when she'd stopped them.  
"Nothing yet." Natasha said, sighing as she poked at the tiny earpiece, repositioning it uncomfortably.  
"You sure you don't want me to wear that?" Sam asked as he watched her fiddle with the device.  
"Not unless you want a high-frequency pitch to shatter your eardrum." Natasha said, finally finding a position that wasn't overly uncomfortable. "Got to love SHIELD tech. It's genetically coded to work for me and only me." Sam's eyebrows had raised dramatically when she'd said it.  
"And does Barton have one of those special little gadgets, too?" Sam asked, his eyes scanning the woods around them slowly as his eyes began to adjust to the bright moonlight.  
Natasha opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated for a moment.  
"Not exactly." She started. "Clint's... Well, Clint doesn't really like other people finding out about it... and he actually hides it very well, but Clint's partially deaf. My comm is routed through a SHIELD satellite directly into his hearing aids. "  
"Damn." Sam sounded impressed. "I would never have been able to tell without you having told me."  
"I'm also pretty sure that James and Steve don't know. For the time being, we'll aim to keep it that way." Natasha said, Sam nodding in agreement. He was quiet again as they continued making their way down through the valley of the forest, trees beginning to thin slightly with the sloping of the land. Sam chewed his lip for a moment before breaking the silence once more.  
"I wonder what Steve said, to set him off like that... Clint seemed like he had a pretty good handle on things during dinner."  
"The way Clint was acting, Steve must have dredged up something pretty deep from the past. Sounded like something about Barney." Natasha sighed resignedly.  
"Clint's brother?" She nodded. "So I guess Clint's a pretty protective guy, huh?"  
"You could say that." Natasha shrugged.  
"Are they close?" Sam asked. "Clint, and his brother, I mean."  
"Well, you heard Clint... The guy stuck his younger brother with a thirty thousand dollar tab without so much as a head's up...They got along together about as well as oil and water." Natasha laughed, but there was a definite sadness about the way she said it. "Barney was selfish, but he was Clint's family. The very last of his family." Sam's expression dropped when he realized Natasha was only talking about him in the past tense.  
"Barney was killed. About eight months ago..." Natasha said, in response to Sam's sudden silence. "He showed up unexpectedly, about the same time Clint lost his hearing. Barney decided he wanted to help Clint recover, and to help clean up some loose ends Clint was chasing on his own time." Natasha paused for a moment. "Barney died helping Clint, and it's a wound that isn't going to heal. Not anytime soon, anyway."  
"Sounds like Clint's been through some shit." It was all Sam could think of to say, and he hoped it sounded more sympathetic than he thought it did.  
"That's putting it lightly." Natasha nodded grimly. "So you can see why Clint gets protective of the people he chooses to surround himself with." She could hear Sam swallow uncomfortably. "We need to find James, and fast... Before they're at each other's throats again."  
"Did he really seem that bad?"  
"He definitely wasn't himself." Natasha sighed, "As far as I know, they've stopped fighting for the time being. But I don't know how long that will last, especially with emotions running high as they are." Natasha rolled her shoulders in an attempt to relieve some tension as they began making their way through the woods again slowly. They were making slow progress using the light of the moon to navigate in the dark, afraid to scare James into running if they dared to use flashlights or torches. She knew they were getting near the center of the basin now, the trees spread wide apart as they reached a clearing filled with pine needles and grass.  
***  
Steve and Clint had been walking side-by-side in silence since having left the house. Clint's heart was pounding in his chest, the gravity of the situation closing in as he wondered just how far away James could have gotten in the time it had taken them to regroup and start searching for him. It was Steve who finally broke the silence, yelping when he tripped over a stump Clint had side-stepped easily in the moonlight.  
"What the- Ow!" Clint stopped walking, rolling his eyes as he extended a hand to help Steve up off the ground. Steve seemed taken aback at the gesture, and after a moment's consideration, he grabbed Clint's hand, heaved himself to his feet and brushed himself off defensively.  
"It's way too fucking dark out here. How did you see that thing with just the moonlight?" He gestured toward the sky.  
"My codename ain't 'Hawkeye' for nothin'." Clint smiled to himself. "It's a nickname I acquired as a kid and I guess it stuck." Steve listened to him, but didn't say anything as Clint continued explaining, "I'm pretty much a professional sniper, Cap. My night vision is pretty good." Another long pause hung in the air as the pair continued to walk around the perimeter of the forest slowly. Clint suddenly stopped in his tracks, his hand flying to his ear as he focused all his concentration on hearing what Natasha was saying to him. Steve immediately stopped beside him, trying to hear just a snatch of what Clint was hearing.  
"Checking in, Clint. We just reached the center of the valley. No signs of him here yet. How're things on your end?"  
"I've seen some wildlife out in the distance, but nothing human." Clint released the button on the hand-held microphone momentarily as he sighed. "He could be out of the forest by now, if he was feeling determined, Nat." His voice had started to fray at the edges, just enough for Steve to notice as he finished speaking.  
"He's got to be in here somewhere, Clint. Have faith in him. James will let us find him when he's ready to be found, and not a second before." Natasha's voice was soothing and calm despite the circumstances. Clint was breathing a little more slowly now, appearing to have regained his composure as he lifted the microphone back to his mouth once more.  
"Alright. We'll keep circling up here. Watch for any signs of movement. And Nat? Be careful. You remember what happened after Latveria-" Clint's voice was low and warning this time. "He might not be himself."  
"You too, Ptista." Natasha said, a grim tone coloring the nickname. "We will bring him home. I promise."  
Clint and Steve started walking again when they had finished radioing each other, the moon sinking lower in the sky leaving dark stripes of shadow across the forest floor. Clint could see another tree stump lying directly in their path some distance away; he tapped Steve on the shoulder to get his attention.  
"Uh, Steve, there's another stump about twenty feet ahead of us, take a step to your right to avoid it." Again, Steve was confused by Clint's small acts of kindness toward him after his (more or less) forced confession less than an hour ago. Steve chewed the inside of his cheek as he watched Clint's outline in the edge of his vision, details obscured by the darkness around them. He found himself unable to shake the doubts he was starting to feel about his concept of exactly who Clint Barton was. Te man who walked beside him now seemed so very different from the picture Steve had fixed in his mind after years upon years of projected blame, hatred, guilt and anger. This Clint Barton was just as confident and cocky as Steve remembered, but there were different qualities there too- things Steve wouldn't have believed to have existed before. This Clint was clever, kind, thoughtful and fiercely protective. Shame and embarrassment flushed on Steve's face as they continued to trudge, Steve sweeping to the right as he heard Clint shift a few feet to his left, safely circling past the stump Clint had warned him about, and then resuming walking side-by-side.  
"Thanks." Steve finally managed to mumble. He wrestled with himself momentarily, struggling to come to terms with his sudden shift in perception.  
"No problem, Cap." Clint said, though he sounded a little surprised at Steve's shift in demeanor.  
They continued making their way around the edge of the forest, stopping for a moment at the halfway point to catch their breath. As Clint was about to radio Natasha again for an update, but Steve cleared his throat awkwardly, drawing Clint's attention instead.  
"Look, it might not mean much to you after everything that's happened, but... I-I'm sorry, Barton. For digging up the past. I-" He stumbled over his words again. "I didn't realize-"  
"You couldn't have known. James didn't even know." Clint cut him off, then shrugged. "I was very depressed, and I made a stupid decision. I'm not proud of it. It was a very dark time in my life, but I'm not gonna just pretend it didn't happen, either. We can't change the past, Cap, no matter how much we might want to." Clint said it sadly, and Steve's chest burned when he knew Clint was thinking of James more than himself. "What's more important now, is to focus on what we can do with our experiences. How we can use them to help the people we care about. And I love Bucky and Nat more than anything else in existence." Clint's tone was warm with a fraction of self-discovery, and Steve could just barely make out the curve of a smile on the other man's face as he pressed the button to check in with Natasha once again.  
***  
James circled the clearing he'd been lost in for what seemed like the thousandth time, his cracked and broken mobile phone clutched angrily in his hand. He had no idea which direction the safehouse lie in, nor did he know exactly how far out the forest reached. The only thing he really knew, was that by now, the others were probably out searching for him, and likely very, very worried about him. The longer he spent in the same place, the antsier James grew; the deep breathing exercises only helped him calm down a bit before he was forced to confront the fact that he was lost in a forest somewhere in the middle of nowhere with no idea how to find his way back to the safehouse. He paced the same path he'd been walking over and over again, his heart hammering in his chest as he stumbled over a tree root he hadn't seen before.  
"God damn it!" He cursed, throwing a punch at the tree with his metal arm in frustration. The tree trunk creaked loudly at the impact, sending an owl flying into the air a few trees away as it escaped the potential danger. James was struck suddenly by an idea- now that he knew the others would be searching for him, but they could be anywhere in the acres of forest around him. What he needed, James figured, was some sort of sign: a way to show them where he was without a doubt.  
***  
Natasha stopped in her tracks when she heard it- the sound of timber creaking with the same repetitive sound of heavy impact. The only thing she could compare it to was that of a battering ram; something unstoppable colliding with something immovable. And it could only have been caused by Bucky. Sam and Natasha exchanged a quick glance before they both broke into a full-speed run.  
CRACK!  
CRACK!  
CRACK!  
The bursts followed the same pattern, followed by a few moments of quiet before beginning again. The closer they got, the louder and more staggered the impacts became. Natasha could tell James was tiring himself out quickly as she and Sam switched on their flashlight torches. She knew they were getting close now as she heard the ringing of metal on wood and the sound of James grunting in pain as the tree he'd been punching finally splintered, sending the rest of the tree crashing to the ground.  
"Ahhh!" Natasha's heart skipped a beat when she heard him cry out, her hand immediately flying to her mouth as she radioed Clint.  
"I've got eyes on him, Ptista." It took a moment for Clint to reply, as static filtered through her earpiece.  
"We figured that tree had to have come down because of him-" Natasha could hear the exertion in his voice as he spoke into the microphone, his breathing labored.  
Natasha took a careful step into the clearing toward Bucky, who was hunched over slightly just a few feet away from her now.  
"James?" She asked tentatively, slowly edging closer as he finally turned to face her. He looked relieved, his cheek scraped and bleeding from the tree fragmenting at the last hit.  
"Natalia!" He smiled weakly, wincing as he brushed the back of his hand across his cheek. "Splinters..." He frowned, then a thought seemed to dawn on him as he noticed who Natasha had been searching with. "Hey, uh, Sam?" Sam waved back at him, a relieved smile on his face as he stood behind Natasha.  
"Are you alright?" Natasha was directly next to him now, one hand gently cupping his cheek as she examined his face with the flashlight.  
"Nat?" Clint's voice buzzed in her ear. "We haven't heard anything since the tree went down... I can't tell if we're getting any closer or not." Clint sounded worried and tired as she could hear the wind shifting around him. Natasha responded immediately, lifting her microphone to her mouth as she slid James's metal arm over her shoulder and helped him to straighten up to a standing position.  
"He's right here with me, Clint." Natasha soothed as Bucky leaned against her, hissing slightly as his flesh and bone arm was slung over Sam's shoulder. He leaned on them for support as they began making their way back they way they'd come, Natasha leading them gently toward the cabin.  
"Is he...?" Clint trailed off in Natasha's earpiece, afraid to finish the question.  
"He's a little worse for the wear, but he should be fine after-" Natasha started, but James motioned at Natasha to let him speak into the microphone.  
"I'm alright, Clint. Just got a little, uh, overzealous..."  
***  
Clint felt like he could keep running for hours when he heard Bucky's voice in his hearing aids, still slightly concerned at how weak he sounded over the radio channel.  
"They've got him." Clint told Steve, who was keeping pace next to him easily.  
"Thank God." Steve sounded as relieved as Clint felt.  
"They just want us to meet back at the safehouse; thought it'd be quicker since they're almost there already. We're still a few miles out."  
"And how far are they?" Steve asked, his flashlight bouncing wildly as they continued weaving through the woods at full speed.  
"Just crossing the center of the valley." Clint huffed, breathing hard again as he realized he was already losing his second wind again. "They'll beat us by awhile."  
***  
Natasha opened the door carefully, scanning her eyes over the room quickly before helping Sam walk Bucky to sit on a barstool in the kitchen while she searched the master bathroom for a first aid kit. After a few moments of looking, Natasha found a medi-kit stocked with bandages, antiseptic and a pair of tweezers. She also briefly considered bringing the needle and thread, but after a moment's thought, concluded that she hadn't seen anything major enough to warrant sutures. She made her way back into the kitchen carrying the medical supplies to find James sitting on a bar stool and leaning heavily on the kitchen counter while Sam poured him a glass of water from the refrigerator. Natasha produced a clean wash cloth from one of the drawers and laid out the medical supplies on the table carefully. Sam felt as if he had blinked, and she had already sterilized the tweezers, making quick work of the larger shards of wood that had propelled themselves into James's skin. Bucky jerked away involuntarily when Natasha tried to clean some of the blood from his face, hissing in pain when the disinfectant burned at his wounds angrily.  
"Just breathe, James. I'm almost done." He tried to behave, sitting still as she cleaned and bandaged his cheek and arm, but as he finally started to calm himself, the realization that if Natasha and Sam were travelling together, then it probably meant Steve and Clint were out in the woods somewhere, too. He bit his lip as Natasha finished securing the last bandage, finally daring to ask her.  
"Natalia... Are Steve and Clint out in the woods... together?" She sighed, nodding at him as he stared back at her in confusion. "But they hate each other-"  
"I guess they just decided you were more important to them than any of their macho bullshit." Natasha smiled, kissing James gently on the bandaged cheek as she packed up the medical supplies carefully. James looked back at her, still feeling bewildered. He wobbled slightly in place on his bar stool as he was hit with a sudden wave of exhaustion.  
"Woah... I think I need to lie down for a minute."  
Natasha and Sam offered to bring Bucky into the master bedroom, but he insisted on sleeping on the couch in the room next to them instead, instructing them that he wanted to be woken as soon as Steve and Clint returned. Reluctantly, Sam and Natasha complied, settling James onto the couch and watching on as he almost immediately fell asleep, his breathing slowing to an even and quiet pace. Natasha smiled to herself as she walked back to the kitchen to put away the medical supplies.  
"Do you need any help, Natasha?" Sam asked as he walked in behind her.  
"Actually, could you put away the rest of these supplies? I need to clean the tweezers and wash the towels before the blood stains set in." Sam laughed to himself as he accepted the bundle from Natasha, shaking his head slightly.  
"Almost sounds like you've done this before." Natasha shrugged back at him.  
"The way I see it, everybody within a three mile radius of here is either current or ex-military service of one kind or another," She watched Sam predatorially, not allowing him to break eye contact with her. "So I'm pretty sure we've all done this once or twice before." He finally blinked, clearing his throat as he carried the medical supplies into the master bathroom and put them away while Natasha set to work cleaning the tweezers.  
***

Steve and Clint finally dared to slow down their pace when Natasha radioed in to report that Bucky had fallen asleep on the couch, and there was no big hurry to get back, as she wanted to give him time to rest. Clint slid his fingertips into his pants pocket, retrieving his nearly-empty box of cigarettes and placing one into his mouth, despite the way he felt like his chest was going to explode after all the running they had just done. Steve crinkled his nose at Clint as he lit the cigarette and took a deep breath.

"We've got time to kill," Clint sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "Nat says he fell asleep after they cleaned him up."  
"Cleaned him up?" Steve asked, his stomach clenching slightly when Clint said it.  
"Multiple bruises and lacerations from repeatedly punching the tree in an effort to signal any of us. Nat mentioned fishing out a splinter the size of a toothpick from his arm. He told me he'd gotten a little 'over enthusiastic' when he talked to me, but I had no idea he had the strength to do something like that." Steve sighed, his stomach no longer knotted, but the familiar feeling of guilt pinched in around him as he nodded slowly toward Clint.  
"When he was taken, the Soviets wanted to create something more powerful than what the good ol' U-S-of-A had cooked up at the time: that being, me. They performed experiments on him... The strength in that arm alone..." He shuddered slightly. "I can tell you from experience, it's no picnic being on the recieving end of it, when he forgets who he is, even momentarily-"  
Clint flicked his cigarette, allowing the smoke to trail out of his nostrils slowly before extending a hand toward Steve.  
"You know, you don't have to carry that weight alone anymore, Cap." Steve's cheeks flushed as he looked back at Clint, embarassed.  
"I appreciate the sentiment, Clint, but it's not going to be that easy..." Steve trailed off, avoiding Clint's gaze as he crossed his arms across his chest and turned away on his heel.  
"All I'm asking for is a chance, Cap." Clint said, his hand grabbing Steve by the shoulder, physically stopping him from moving any further. "We've got to hash this out sometime, and now's as good as any." Steve hadn't struggled when Clint had stopped him. He knew the conversation was coming, but he couldn't quite describe the war going on in inside him.  
"You know, ever since we met, I've had this picture of Clint Barton was built up in my head. A lying, good for nothing, thug who did whatever it took to get what he wanted, and didn't care who he hurt in the process... I thought I had you all figured out, and I was happy thinking you'd been completely removed from Bucky's life. And now, after all this-" Steve motioned around at the forest around him. "Seeing you together, and how happy and at-ease he is around you, coupled with how you've been-" he struggled to find the right word. "Accommodating of me, despite my own acting like a spoiled child... I guess it's hard for me to believe that there are other facets to you that I hadn't considered before."  
"I said it before, and I'll say it again, Steve, but I'm starting to feel like a broken record here. People can change pretty significantly in a surprisingly short amount of time. I've done a lot of growing and introspection in the last decade, and I decided long ago that I was finished running away from my past."  
Steve finally turned to face Clint, his expression set cold and stony as he looked back at the older man.  
"I just... I can't let him down." The words came out as a whisper that Clint almost didn't hear as the breeze swept over them, sending a shiver down his spine when Steve's eyes glinted slightly in the moonlight as his eyes started to brim. "Not again."  
"We'll hold each other accountable, then. We'll work together to help him, as a team. You call me on my shit, and I'll call you on yours." Clint cleared his throat, "At least let us try until Nat and I head back to headquarters in a couple days." Steve blinked, sniffing just once before shrugged.  
"I'm not saying I agree, but..." Steve said.  
"But you're not disagreeing?" Clint asked hopefully. Steve didn't respond as they started walking back toward the cabin again in relative silence, causing Clint to grin triumphantly to himself.  
***


	9. "I Could Wait Around for the Dust to Still, But I Don't Believe That It Ever Will"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! But not to worry, I have a feeling I'll eventually write something else in this au. Who knows. Hope everybody's enjoyed it :)

It was a few hours before dawn when Clint and Steve finally approached the cabin, bleary-eyed and exhausted. Natasha had warned Clint that Bucky was asleep in the living room, so he and Steve opted to enter through the garage instead. The door creaked as Clint slowly opened it, mouthing an apology as he saw Natasha pick her head up off the kitchen counter she and Sam had been dozing on. Sam seemed undisturbed until Clint started to speak.

"Sorry." He whispered as Natasha slid her chair out behind her quietly and stepping over to Clint and Steve. Sam sat up and blinked a few times, smiling when he saw Steve and Clint had returned.

"It's alright, Ptista. Welcome back." She kissed him on the cheek, then began to fiddle with his hearing aid carefully, disconnecting it from her radio with ease.

"Is he still asleep?" Clint asked, concerned. He rubbed at his ear subconsciously for a moment, starting to ache slightly from all the strain of the last few hours.

"See for yourself." She pointed behind her, in the direction of the living room. Steve and Clint both removed their shoes, trying to walk as quietly as possible as they looked over the back of the large sofa. Bucky was curled amongst the pillows, a blanket wrapped tightly around himself, his face blank as he slept. Steve and Clint sighed of collective relief, stepping back into the kitchen carefully.

"Alright, we've only got a few more hours before the sun comes up. Let's all get to bed." Natasha said, linking her arm with Clint's. "Sam already made the bed downstairs, so you two should be all set, too." She smiled at Steve when she said it, steering Clint back toward their room as he just allowed himself to be lead. He was so tired, all he wanted to do was pass out, but he still felt the nagging pain of loss Steve had brought up hours before. Now that he had time to be in his own head, Clint almost preferred when he didn't have the time to think about it. He cursed at himself for thinking so selfishly as Natasha stopped them in the hall just long enough to ask him,

"Do you feel like you need to shower? We were out in the woods." He had to process the question for a moment before he mumbled back at her.

"No. Later." One word answers were all he could muster as exhaustion finally caught up to him.

"Okay, but at least change your clothes." Clint sighed heavily, stripping his clothes off as soon as he'd walked into the room, Natasha noticing just in time to shut the door before he removed his pants. Clint flopped into the bed in his underwear, Natasha shaking her head with a smile and sitting down next to him as he pulled the blanket over himself and closed his eyes, immediately beginning to fall asleep.

"Good night, Ptista." He thought he heard Natasha say, but he slipped out of consciousness before he could say it back.

***

For Clint, sleep was restless and short-lived. He had fallen back into a re-occurring nightmare from his youth, but just as it had been every time before, Clint found himself unable to wake from the dream until it had run its course.

\--

Bright flashes of light surrounded him, painting the room with an iridescent glow. Clint was going into sensory overload from the massive audience of blurred faces, each one indistinguishable from the next as the sounds of the crowd swelled to a deafening roar. The noise continued to overwhelm Clint until the jeering voices of the audience had become nothing but an indistinct sharp, piercing ringing that resonated through his eardrums painfully. Clint flung his head around rapidly, feeling as if he were underwater as he dropped his showy prop bow to the ground, clamping his palms over his aching ears.

Usually, this was where the childhood nightmare ended, Clint jolting awake sweating and cold, but otherwise unaffected, but instead, Clint's nightmare continued, as it had only begun to do recently.

When he finally dared to uncover his ears again, it was a fourteen year old Barney's childish voice that echoed in his ears.

"Clint!" Barney yelled, his young voice growing more and more desperate as Clint found he had no voice to respond with, to let his brother know he was there. Barney continued to frantically shout his name, until Clint finally managed to move, whirling himself around toward Barney's voice. Instead of seeing the childhood image of his brother, Clint's vision settled instead on his adult brother's crumpled form, lying on the roof of his apartment building; there was no sound around him now, Clint realized as he managed to force his legs to carry himself across the rooftop in a few quick strides.

The last sensation he feels, Clint will never forget for the rest of his life; his breath coming in shallow bursts as he feels Barney's blood soaking his clothes and covering his skin, warm and sticky and sickening. He can feel Barney bleeding out in his hands. With his last gasping breath, Barney manages to choke out one final word, blood trailing down the side of his lip.

"Clint-"

\--

He woke up sweating and gasping for air, shivering when he realized where he was. He hadn't had that nightmare in a few months; Clint had figured that he had finally moved beyond the grieving stage, considering how estranged he and Barney's relationship had been throughout adulthood, but Steve's comment that evening must have stirred the regret and resentment he'd been subconsiously suppressing back to the surface all over again. Clint sighed as he climbed out of bed, quietly padding out of the master bedroom toward the kitchen for a glass of water to clear his head.

***

James twitched awake, russian commands echoing in his brain foggily as he forced the air out of his lungs through his nose in one quick push. He struggled to recognize his surroundings as he wrestled with the heavy quilt that had been draped over him, taking another quick breath through his nostrils as he instinctively reached for the knife he'd kept strapped to his leg during his russian agent days. His heart raced when he felt nothing, sliding off the couch noiselessly. He found himself biting his lip to ignore the sting of the painful, itchy abraisions on his cheek and arm as they came in contact with the blanket that fell to the ground, instead focusing on absorbing details about the room around him in the dim light of dawn. James rounded the corner of the hallway silently, stopping in place when he heard purposely quiet footsteps moving slowly in his direction. He immediately flattened himself against the wall, pressing his body into the corner quickly as he finally saw the silhouette of a man walking through the hall. It was only when they were feet away from each other that they finally reacted: James lunged at Clint, who side stepped and pinned James against the wall, his forearm bracing the younger man's chest with all the force he could muster while his other hand clamped over James's mouth, preventing him from yelling unpredictably and waking the rest of the house with them.

"Hey, hey, hey- It's me, Bucky." Clint whispered, soothing and urgent as he reassured James, who had gone pale, the fog in his vision beginning to clear as Clint continued to whisper things to him comfortingly. "You know where we are right now, just take a second to breathe."" He pulled his hand back from James's mouth as he finally saw some of the color returning to the younger man's complexion. "You with me?" Clint asked, immediately releasing James from the wall and drawing him into a tight embrace, his forehead pressed gently against Bucky's.

"Clint, I'm so sorry-" James started, but Clint cut him off, kissing James gently before he could say anything more. James almost pulled back from the kiss when Clint made no attempt to break it, but refrained when he felt a damp tear transfer from Clint's cheek to his own. After another moment, Clint finally spoke, his forehead still pressed to James's.

"Please- Please don't leave me again." It was a plea that came out quieter and shakier than he'd expected when he started. "You and Nat... you're all I've got left, now." James's heart was pounding as he lifted his hands to wrap around the back of Clint's neck, embracing him back.

"I don't know if I'm in a position to make any promises," James began, pulling his head back long enough to kiss Clint on the cheek. "But I'll do what I can from now on." Bucky released Clint from his embrace, rubbing the tear tracks from Clint's cheek with his thumb carefully. They stood in silence for a moment longer before Clint remembered the reason he'd come out in the first place.

"I'm going to get a drink of water. Do you want one?" Clint asked, slightly embarrased, motioning toward the kitchen.

"No, I think I'm alright." James answered, shrugging.

"Go join Nat in bed, then. I'll be there in a minute." James smiled, kissing Clint gently on the cheek once more before starting toward the master bedroom.

"Don't be long." Clint winked back at him as he watched Bucky walk into the bedroom carefully. Turning on his heel, Clint quietly made his way to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water and draining it in seconds. He snuck back into the bedroom, smiling as he saw Natasha cuddling up to James, who was lying in the middle of the bed now with Natasha's head on his shoulder. Clint crawled under the blanket, thankful for the massive size of the mattress as he aligned his body with the younger man's side opposite Natasha, draping his arm over James's stomach comfortably. It wasn't more than ten minutes before all three were sleeping deeply in the warmth of the morning light, finally at peace with the world, if only for a moment.

***

Steve and Sam woke earlier than the others, despite how late they'd been awake the night before. They each showered and changed their clothes in the guest bathroom, opting to go for a run on the same trail Natasha had used the day before, appreciating how easy it was to navigate the sprawling forest in the light of day, as opposed to the desperate feeling of the night before. Sam and Steve ran casually, talking over the events of the night before, and relating what had happened from each respective side. Steve seemed worried when he heard Sam describing James's furied attacks on the tree; Sam seemed delighted when he heard about Clint and Steve's mutual (or about as mutual as Steve was going to get) decision to work toward James's common good, smiling proudly as he looked back at the tall blonde.

"Well damn, Captain Rogers," Sam joked, "It looks like you can teach an old dog new tricks." Steve quirked an eyebrow back at him, one corner of his mouth perking up into a smirk.

"Nah." He shook his head, "I think I've just finally learned to admit when I've been proven wrong." He shrugged, a sly look on his face.

"So are we gonna let him stay with them on their own?" The hope was too obvious in Sam's voice when he asked it.

"How else could I take you out on a date?" Steve said, all confidence as he began pushing their pace just a little faster, laughing when Sam started breathing heavier and beginning to lag behind him. "Last one to the valley buys dinner?" Steve asked, allowing Sam to catch up before he sprinted past once more. Sam had to stop running because he'd laughed so hard he'd gotten a stitch.

***

When Natasha, Clint and James rose, the mid-afternoon sun colored the room with a warm orange glow. No one dared to be the first to move as they cuddled together, happiness swelling in Clint's chest as the groggy pile of limbs stirred; attempting to disentangle themselves from one another slowly in the warmth of the sunlight. Clint sighed with the effort, his arm tingling with having fallen asleep after hours of lying on it at the wrong angle and losing blood flow. He whined quietly to himself as he felt Bucky shift away from him under the blanket. Clint cuddled close behind James, spooning him affectionately.

"Mmm-" James mumbled, burying his face into Natasha's soft curls that sprawled in front of him on the pillow and over the crook of her neck. She purred as James kissed her bare shoulder softly, hearing him growl into her skin as Clint pressed up tightly against him under the heavy quilted blanket.

"Morning." Natasha smiled, her voice still deep and throaty with sleep. Clint leaned up just far enough to be seen over James's shoulder, grinning ear to ear when he saw the look of contentment on her face with James's face still buried in the silky hair that draped over her shoulder haphazardly. Refusing to be ignored any longer, Clint began tracing James's ribs from behind him with the tip of one long finger. At first, James didn't react, and Clint wondered if he had lost his touch (after all, he prided himself on his ability to irritate just about anyone into giving him what he needed) before he found the right spot, and rubbed between two of James's ribs in particular that caused him to twitch involuntarily from his comfortable position.

"What do you want?" James whined, rolling back toward Clint and finally looking at him in the light for the first time, causing Clint to immediately forget about his childish actions moments before. James immediately noticed his visible shift in demeanor as Clint's eyes settled on his cheeks, his hand cupping Bucky's chin gently as he looked over the scabbed abrasions sadly. "Clint-" James's voice broke Clint's concentration as Clint's eyes locked with Bucky's instead. Before he could say anything more, Clint had angled James's chin toward him and kissed him passionately.

It took him by surprise, but James returned Clint's affection without question, wrapping an arm around Clint's neck and pulling them closer together as Natasha watched on and laughed to herself at the two of them before warningly letting them know,

"You should probably wait until we shut and lock the door to do that..." She nodded toward the door when they finally parted momentarily, faces flushed and hair slightly disheveled as Steve and Sam could be heard speaking quietly to each other from the deck outside the kitchen. James reluctantly slid from the bed and crossed the room to close the door, not realizing Clint was following him close behind. After securely closing the room off from the rest of the house, James turned around, Clint's face just inches from his yet again. Sam and Steve could be heard re-entering the house from behind the locked door, causing James's heart to race.

"You sure you're up for this?" James asked, his tone whispered and unsure as Clint hovered so close to him. "It's a thin line to toe." Clint smiled, pinning James against the door, one hand over each of his shoulders.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it too much-" He started, a toothy grin making its way onto his face. "Steve and I have reached an understanding, of sorts..." James's heart beat quick and loud in his chest as Clint closed the space between them again. He didn't know exactly how things were going to be from now on, but if James was being honest, he didn't really mind as long as he got to go along for the ride with Clint and Natasha by his side. To him, the future looked bright.

***

 


End file.
